


Love is War

by Grimreaperchibi



Category: Jak and Daxter
Genre: Anal Sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Violence, Voyeurism, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 14:46:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 59,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimreaperchibi/pseuds/Grimreaperchibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding love is hard enough under normal circumstances. But during a war where just about everyone’s trying to kill you, it’s pretty much impossible. Then again, doing the impossible was what they were getting good at.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Number Two (009 Sound System)

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t ask why Daxter’s not an ottsel, I don’t know. This timeline assumes that it’s been between two to three weeks since escaping the Fortress and that Torn stuffs your ass in a hole after moving all the compromised Underground agents. Each chapter is named after the song that inspired it and includes the lyrics (as applicable) at the end.

With a grunt, Jak slammed his shoulder into the door.  It finally gave, groaning in protest as it was forced open another few inches.  Just enough to let two renegades slip through before it was shoved closed once more.  The snap of the deadbolt had an air of finality.

“Home sweet hole,” Daxter sighed, flickering on his lighter and holding it up so that they could both see.  The room was ridiculously small, barely large enough to hold a sleeping pallet, a hot plate, and a sink that doubled as the water supply for the tiny closet of a bathroom.  “No windows, no lights...”  He fiddled with the taps until a gurgling stream of brown water hiccupped from the facet.  “…and the water’s nasty.  How long did Tattooed Wonder say we gotta stay here?”

“Until our stunt with the Baron blows over,” Jak replied, back pressed against the door as he eyed the room warily. 

Daxter snorted.  “He can kiss my formerly fuzzy orange ass if he thinks we’re spendin’ more than the night,” he groused, checking through everything as he talked, making sure there were no nasty surprises waiting for the light to go out.  “I mean, we’ve been doin’ his garbage work for how long?  We’re practically carryin’ his Precursor-damned rebellion, an’ this was the best he could come up with?  I’ve seen prison cells with more space an’ better accommodations.”  He paused in his self-appointed task, as if suddenly realizing what exactly he’d said.  He looked over to Jak.  “You okay, buddy?”

Jak nodded, but he wasn’t really.  He felt trapped and more than slightly claustrophobic.  The errant comment about prison cells had struck a little too close for comfort.  Most of the time, enclosed spaces weren’t a problem.  It was in and out to pick up a mission brief, maybe grab a drink if they were at the Hip Hog, and never with enough time on hand to think about where the walls were and whether or not they were moving.  Even in the relatively close quarters of the sewers, his focus had been on what he was doing and not getting attacked from behind.  Now, all those bad memories he’d barely managed to bury under anger and constant movement were starting to rise again.  He was seriously starting to consider taking his chances sleeping out on the street despite the increased Krimzon Guard presence when slightly cold hands clapped around his face.  His eyes were forced to meet the extraordinarily clear blue eyes of his best friend, instantly grounding him to the present.

“S’okay, Jak,” Daxter said softly.  “I’m right here with ya.  We can leave anytime you want.”

For a long second, the world simply stopped.  There was no room, no Guard, no darkness that threatened to overtake everything else.  Only the two of them existed and the only moment that mattered was right now.  From there, the world came back in small, manageable bits.  This wasn’t confinement; it was safety.  No lights to give away their position.  No way for peering eyes to see them.  The heavy door that took a small army to break down was there to protect them while they rested and recouped.  He wasn’t alone, his company wasn’t going to hurt him, and he could go when he wished.  The mantra slowly repeated—he was safe, he wasn’t alone, he could leave when he wanted—until the constriction in his chest eased.  Jak sighed, relaxing back against the door. 

He must have still looked uncertain because suddenly Daxter was hugging him, holding on tightly as if Jak would disappear the moment he was let go of.  He returned the embrace as strongly as he dared, trying to give as much reassurance as he received.  Sometimes it was still a shock that they were together again, that the horror was actually behind him and not still waiting to continue when he woke the next time.  Running this errand for Krew or that mission for Torn had kept their attention focused on what was directly in front of them.  It kept two years of hell from being much more than a lingering nightmare in the back of their minds, not forgotten…but somehow no longer as frightening.

Now there was more than ample time to think about it all.  How close he’d been to letting that last part of him die, letting the Dark Eco consume him the way he’d watched it consume all the others.  How he still toed that line of insanity, succumbing ever so slowly to the anger that only seemed to go deeper every day.  He was learning quickly what the stressors were, what things triggered that savage other in his brain to surface and how to control it.  Everyone thought he just went feral, a wild animal acting on instinct alone, and in a way, that was true.  While he was very much aware of what he was doing in the Dark periods, he could barely exercise any control over the outcome, which wasn’t much better than being completely out of control.  The powers inherent in Dark Eco simply overwhelmed all else, rushing out in a single, violent explosion, like a dam under too much pressure.  Each time there was a release, it became just that much easier for the walls to break again.  The wellspring became deeper, the effects more pronounced, making each step towards control a step towards the line that separated that which was “Jak” from the destructive force of nature he now carried in his blood. 

Which then lead to the most terrifying thought of all…what was going to happen to Daxter the day he couldn’t come back after crossing that line? 

His morbid thoughts of what-if were interrupted when Daxter abruptly pulled away and started to pull off the impressive amount of equipment he carried everywhere.  There was a reason home was where Daxter was—his best friend packed it with him.  Food, ammunition, medical supplies, money, clothes, a blanket…name it and it was probably stuffed into a hip pouch, pocket, or the bag the redhead hauled around.  So it came as no real surprise when an old fashioned candle appeared out of somewhere and turned a cup into a makeshift candleholder.  The dim light quickly brightened, filling the room with an almost homey yellow glow.

Source of light now secure, Daxter hurried through the rest of his room check.  Then, without preamble, everything else he was carrying was dumped onto the floor.  Pockets were emptied, the bag and pouches turned inside out.  He sat in the middle of his mess, hands automatically starting to sort out all the items.  “C’mon,” he said as he worked.  “It’ll be just like that time we got trapped in that cave durin’ a storm.  Only a helluva lot drier.  Helluva lot warmer, too.”

Jak wasn’t really sure which time or cave his friend was referring to; being stuck in a cave waiting for a particularly intense storm to pass had been a twice yearly event growing up.  In the summer, the rains came from the mountains via thick gray clouds that dropped water in random patterns and places.  Hot mornings would lead to afternoon downpours, where the unwary could go from dry to drenched in minutes, finding cover just time to no longer need it.  Winter storms gathered out over the ocean, heralded by black clouds spanning the whole horizon and harsh winds.  Those squalls could last days with few let-ups in between, the dark of night barely discernable from the dark of day.  It was virtually inevitable, getting caught in the soaking rain when you were two young, cocky, high-energy boys who didn’t have the sense to stay in where it was warm and dry.  They had had “cave adventures” all the time.

The connection with something familiar helped Jak ease away from the door.  Most of the things were sorted by now and Daxter was starting to parcel out dinner.  “Pull up a piece of floor, buddy.  I got a kau fruit with our names on it here somewhere…”  That caught Jak’s interest immediately; he’d always had a particular fondness for the waxy skinned, star shaped fruit that grew in the trees of the nearby jungle.  How had Dax found one here?  It was eventually found hiding in plain sight, earning a scowl from Daxter as he twirled his knife in the other hand.  Quick, efficient cuts peeled the inedible parts away, revealing the soft yellow interior.  He offered the treat to Jak before starting to hack into another piece of fruit, a melon of some sort about the size of a fist.  Then there was a can of reconstituted something from a scavenged Ration crate and some of the flat bread made of hard grains, both made a bit more edible by the flowers Daxter had picked during their trip to the Mountain Temple.  Even split between two, it wasn’t much, but it did help reinforce the whole camped out in a cave scenario they were playing off of. 

Except the way Daxter handled that pocket knife of his.  That was something he never could have attempted back home without hurting himself rather seriously.  The knife itself wasn’t as impressive as the one Torn had flipped around when they first met, but after seeing the way his friend could handle his made Jak think the Underground’s tactician was compensating for something.  It also highlighted how much Daxter had changed, going from a gangly youth with almost zero coordination to a young man with jaw dropping amounts of manual dexterity.  He was still barely as tall as Jak, still built like a stick, and a skinny stick at that.  Same untamable golden-red hair, buck teeth, clear blue eyes and bumptious personality.  Still had the same cold hands and feet.  But he was also harder, sharper, more likely to take a stand and get in someone’s face when he didn’t like the direction of the conversation.  He’d perfected the art of the five finger discount and hiding in plain sight.  He could dash fearlessly into crowds without ever touching a single person, vaulting off walls, bounding over obstacles, and rebounding from falls that should at least sprain something. 

Daxter had become quieter, too, though only Jak could tell.  There was still that steady stream of empty words to fill in the lingering silences, to take away the uncomfortable edge too little sleep and too much stress created.  But the times when the words did mean something were fewer.  He seemed less willing to share, even though he offered just about everything to Jak first.  The complaints were still there, yet never about the important things like pain, fatigue, or hunger.

At first, Jak had put it off as a side effect of their time spent separated.  Two years was a long time and the experience had changed them both on a fundamental level.  They weren’t the boys they’d been before.  Now that they were settling into each other again, though, he wasn’t sure it was so simple.  The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like it was all an act of nonchalance, like Daxter was trying to uphold something that no longer existed between them.  Maybe he—

Jak bit his tongue, effectively distracting himself from his current thought process.  It didn’t matter what he thought.  For the time being, Daxter was beside him and that little piece of normalcy was doing wonders for the thousands of little bleeding wounds tape and gauze couldn’t touch.  He could worry about losing that last lifeline when it came to that.  There were enough bad things happening in his life right now that he didn’t need to go looking for more.  Besides, even if it was all a shadow play between them now, at least Daxter cared enough to play along.  That had to be worth something, right?

Dinner passed in companionable silence, the peppery bite of the flowers and sticky sweet tang of the kau fruit going a long way in making the rest of the food palatable.  The melon wasn’t too bad, either, even if it was a little under ripe.  Once they and the meal were cleaned up, Daxter began his nesting routine.  Sometimes annoying, though mostly amusing, Jak watched his friend fuss over the bedding, the paranoia driving the action evident and understood.  Shelter found on the street was perilous at best.  The only way to stay alive long enough to meet the next dreary sunrise was to stay constantly vigilant, even when sleeping.  Daxter had developed a complete schedule around bedding down.  It had taken a bit to get used to sleeping next to one another since it had been a while since they’d shared personal space with anyone, but the cold nights Haven saw demanded they share body heat.  They had learned each other’s sleeping patterns and made the best of it…which included letting Daxter take as long as he needed to settle down before Jak found that cozy spot beside him.

In the end, the makeshift bed was doubled over and moved into another corner.  Everything they owned was repacked and set aside, ready to be grabbed at a moment’s notice.  There was another search for unwanted roommates before Daxter wiggled into his chosen spot.  More fussing with all his equipment.  More arranging of the bedding.  Finally, he drew the ratty blanket around his shoulders and held open the cocoon he’d constructed, his signal to Jak that he was done ordering the universe and ready to be joined.  Careful not to disturb the design too much, he crawled into the offered spot.  They settled in, shoulder to shoulder, not really tired but left with nothing else to really do.

There was something soothing about watching the candle flame gently flicker, feeling the body next to his warm and relax into him.  It felt good, better than Jak remembered almost anything else feeling.  It was almost enough to make him wish he could forget about the outside world all together.  Even if his brain was trying too hard to make sense of everything he’d ignored in favor of what was right in front of him, the simplicity of the night was something he wanted to keep, something he couldn’t find anymore.  But he couldn’t stop now.  Not when he’d seen that look of terror on the Baron’s face the moment he’d realized Jak was an actual threat; that it was going to take significantly more than boasting and sheer arrogance to make the problem go away.  The whole city was great about looking the other way when it came to the more unsavory elements of life there.  Even if his sought after revenge came to naught, he wanted this place to see him, to acknowledge who and what he was and how he came to be that way.

“Don’t think ‘bout it,” Daxter mumbled, as if knowing where his thoughts were going.  “Whatever it is, don’t worry ‘bout it right now.  Nothin’s worth the time or trouble.”

_You’re worth the time and trouble_ , Jak wanted to say.  The words got caught in his throat, though, choking him slightly.  He wasn’t sure why he needed to say them, or even where they’d come from, but he could not give them the weight of voice.  After a few frustrating minutes of arguing with himself, he gave up.  Leaning forward a bit, he blew out the candle, returning the room to utter darkness.  He settled back against the wall and stared into the emptiness, willing his mind to be just as blank.  Maybe if he could just get some real sleep, it wouldn’t all be so confusing anymore.

Yeah.  Right.

 ***

 Jak wasn’t certain how long it had been since he’d fallen asleep, but waking was instantaneous and complete.  He held completely still, momentarily disoriented in the absolute black, and became aware of several things almost at once.  The first thing he was able to discern was that sometime during the night, both he and Daxter had tipped over.  Now he was lying on his back with his friend almost completely draped over the top of him, hopelessly tangled in the blanket.  On the heels of that was the realization that Daxter’s breathing was off, feathery and light instead of soft and steady.  Which lead to the third and probably most important thing to notice:  the subtle way Daxter’s hips were shifting against his and the effect said movement was having on both of them.

For a minute, what was happening didn’t really process.  It was a little awkward, to be sure… although not all that unpleasant.  The weight on top of him was warm and oddly reassuring, the breathy noises as arousing as the rubbing.  Even with the lack of sight, Jak could easily imagine the flush-stained skin to go with the fine trembling he could feel.  The way each gasp and sigh would part lips swollen from kissing as hot breath brushed across his throat.  How it would feel to have the hand currently clutching and kneading on his chest to do the same in his hair, or down his back as he—

Great Precursor Gods, what the hell was wrong with him tonight?  Give him a little free time alone and his thoughts decided to dash off in any damn direction they wanted.  In one night, he’d run the full gambit, from depression and fear to self-loathing and lust.  Wonderful.  He felt like beating his head into a wall, if only so that the ensuing headache ensured he couldn’t think anymore.  It only got him in trouble.  And people wondered why he suffered from target fixation.

He was just getting ready to wake Daxter when the completely unexpected happened:  the other moaned his name.  Jak froze.  Had his friend really just…?  No.  No way in hell.  He was hearing things now.  He dismissed the thought with a vengeance.  At least, until Daxter did it again, this time with a rougher roll of his hips.  Then it was all a little harder to deny.

There was a part of him that suggested just going with it, which the rest of him struck down almost immediately.  That was taking advantage of something between them that he wasn’t willing to jeopardize for anything.  That meant ending this before it reached the inevitable, embarrassing, sticky conclusion it was heading for.  Bracing himself as best he could, Jak clamped his arms down as best he could around the other.  It was like taking a blow from the Scatter Gun directly to the diaphragm.  Daxter exploded awake, already fighting off the perceived threat.  Jak grunted and held on tighter, applying strength he normally kept in check.  There was a gasp of pain before Daxter went limp.  Jak eased up, but didn’t let go, waiting for his friend’s brain to catch up with the rest of him…and for his breath to come back.

Finally, a tiny whisper.  “…Jak?”

“Yeah,” was the best he could manage.

There was a long sigh of relief.  “Damn it, Jak, what the hell’s wrong with…”  Daxter’s voice trailed off as his body stiffened again, apparently finally taking note of the obvious erection he was pressing into Jak’s thigh.  He remained unmoving through several deliberate sounding breaths and a rather anxious swallow.  “Sorry,” he said in a carefully neutral tone.  There was another controlled breath, this one ending with a slight shiver and a mumbled curse.  “I—I’ll just…  I’ll go.”

Go?  Wait…that meant Daxter was going to leave him?  Here?  Alone?  Unreasonable panic spiked hard through Jak’s system.  He immediately clutched the other to him, unwilling to let Daxter even try to move.  Even the sharp yelp of pain wasn’t enough to get him to loosen his grip.  He didn’t want Daxter to leave.  Damn everything else!  He didn’t want to be alone again and he most definitely didn’t want to be alone in the dark.  He was supposed to be safe now, but safe only meant something because Daxter was there to prove its subsistence.  He’d held on for two years for a voice he’d almost convinced himself had never existed in the first place.  To lose it all again…he wasn’t that strong.  He couldn’t—

“— _leggo, leggo, please, Jak, buddy, stop, yer breakin’ my arm, leggo, please, leggo_ —”

The pleading finally penetrated the fear-rushed thoughts.  His grip immediately relaxed, though he still couldn’t bring himself to let go completely.  Daxter whined in distress, struggling to free himself.  Gently, Jak helped untangle the mess of blanket and limbs they’d made.  It was of little wonder he hadn’t managed to break Daxter’s arm, the way it was twisted up behind him.  There was a loud sigh of relief when said arm finally came free.  He immediately sat up, leaving a cold, empty feeling everywhere they’d be touching.  It was uncomfortably close to being left, so Jak sat up as well, hesitantly feeling through the dark, half afraid he would find nothing and highly embarrassed for acting like a child a third his age.  Didn’t change the fact he felt much better when a trembling hand latched onto his, however.

“’M sorry,” Daxter said, voice tired and stressed.

“For what?  I hurt you.”

“Only ‘cuz I gave ya a heart attack.  I woulda busted someone’s nose, wakin’ with someone gettin’ off on me like that.  A bruised arm’s more than fair.  Wasn’t nothin’ I didn’t deserve.”

Jak frowned at the self-depreciating tone.  How could Daxter possibly think he was at fault?  Okay, so maybe he’d been the one who started it, acting out some erotic dream and using Jak as an unintentional partner.  But the last time Jak checked, they were both guys and that sort of dreaming was supposed to be completely normal.  They were constantly within arm’s reach of each other, slept together in a space most people would consider weird even for known lovers, and shared damn near everything else.  Something like this was bound to happen sooner than later and he was kind of surprised it hadn’t been sooner.  Besides, it wasn’t like he thrown Daxter off, yelled and screamed and carried on, making it some huge issue.  To the contrary, he was actually kinda flattered it was his name that had been spoken.  He hadn’t even said a word yet about the whole mess…unless Daxter was apologizing for something else…

“Hey, buddy?”  He sounded nervous.  “I kinda can’t see yer face right now.  So feel free to speak up any time you want—”

“Do you hate me?” Jak blurted out.

The stunned silence was palpable.  “What the hell kinda stupid question is that?!  Just ‘cuz I asked ya to talk to me doesn’t mean you get to say whatever the hell comes to mind.  I’d slug ya one if I could see yer dense, blond head.  Sure, Jak.  Sprung ya from a torture chamber an’ followed yer crazy ass all over the damn city because I wanna murder you before anyone else gets the chance.  Makes perfect sense.”

“Even after getting you turned into an ottsel?”

There was another pause.  “…I admit I was pissed off at you for that.  Well, beyond pissed, but I don’t think there’s an adjective strong enough out there to describe how I felt.  But I never hated ya.  Even when it looked like I wasn’t gonna get turned back, I didn’t hate you.”

“And now?”

“Is there a point to this?” Daxter whined petulantly.  “’Cuz if there is, I’d like to skip to that part of the conversation.”

“Just answer.”

“No.  I don’t hate you,” he said with great patience. “ Not then.  Not now.”

“So what makes you think I hate you?  That you _deserve_ to be hurt by me?”  Silence was his answer.  He could sense Daxter curling into himself, pulling away mentally like he always did when the conversation started going deeper.  Putting it all together was like a slap to the face; Daxter really did think he deserved it, had maybe even been waiting for it.  Jak tightened his hold on the hand in his, annoyed and confused. “Seriously?  You gave me my life back and you really think I give a damn about some dream you were having?”

“No, what I think ya give a damn about is that I’m the one who took yer smile away!” Daxter hissed back.  It was hard to tell what surprised Jak more, the words or the tone of absolute anguish.  “That I’m the reason you can’t sleep for more than a few hours without havin’ some horrible nightmare!  That there’s a snarly, fanged version of yerself that _likes_ to rip limbs from sockets!  Two months as an ottsel is _nothin’_ compared to two years as a science experiment, an’ don’t you dare tell me otherwise!”

“That isn’t your fault!”

“The hell it isn’t!”  The hand still in Jak’s was shaking hard and he wondered if the tears in Daxter’s voice were mirrored on his face.  “My only friend in the entire fuckin’ world worked his ass off to help me when I needed it an’ _I left him_ the moment shit got weird.  I ran away an’ left him to die when he woulda done anythin’ to save me, an’ done it in half the time ‘cuz that’s the kinda great guy he is.  I might not’ve inserted the needle, pressed the button, or marked failure on a piece a paper, but _I did nothin’_ , an’ that’s a million times worse.  I crawled into a bottle an’ just let it happen when I shoulda been there, doin’ somethin’ to protect the guy who made eveythin’ worth it.  Ain’t much to love ‘bout someone like that…”

Jak felt his heart twist.  This was why Daxter had been so distant.  Because he couldn’t let himself get any closer, afraid of the time when what he was trying so hard to keep alive between them would turn on him.  This had to be torture for him, constantly beside the source of pain but unable to move away from it, unable to protect himself from the what-ifs and should-haves because the cause was always right in front of him.  That he stayed despite the uncertainty and dread, still tried to fulfill the part he thought he’d neglected even though it might only cause his ruin in the end…Jak had never loved someone more.  He reached out, following his friend’s arm up until he reached Daxter’s face.  His fingers swept through the wet streaks there before curling into soft hair.  He pulled the other forward, thunking their foreheads together.

“You saved me,” he said softly, tightening his hold when Daxter tired to pull away.  “I won’t lie—it hurt getting left behind like that.  But as soon as they threw me into the program, I was so relieved you weren’t there.  Watching what happened to everyone else…thinking one of them could have been you…  That’s about half my nightmares right there, being so close, yet unable to help…  It would have killed me faster than the Dark Eco they were injecting me with.  Neither of us would be here right now if you hadn’t run away, Dax.  Praxis would have destroyed us both, one way or another.

“But you weren’t there, and that was something they couldn’t take from me.  I could put everything I didn’t want them to touch in you and know it was safe, that I was protecting it, and then it didn’t matter what they did to me.  And maybe that’s completely fucked up, but it kept me going.  It still does.

“You’re the only who came looking for me, the only one who still looks at me like a person instead of monster or the means to an end.  You pulled me back from the edge of a very bad place and make me want to fight back against whatever they did to me.  I can’t hate the person who did that for me.  I can’t hate someone who still cracks jokes and tells stories and makes me feel normal.  I can’t, so don’t ask me to.”

He could feel the last bit of resistance crumble.  The sobs were quiet, but no less heart-wrenching and pitiful.  Jak shifted, pulling his unresisting friend out of the corner he’d hidden in, bracing so that they were leaning into each other once again.  He kept his arm around Daxter’s shoulders and let him cry.  A couple of times, Jak thought to say more, only there was nothing else to say.  Instead, he found himself touching, stroking the arm his hand rested against or absently rubbing his cheek against the other’s head.  Once, he caught himself pressing a kiss to hair that still somehow smelled like the ocean.

…Was it wrong to never want to move?

Eventually, the sobs turned to hiccups, and then to sniffles before ceasing all together.  Hesitant arms slowly slid around Jak’s chest as Daxter settled into a more comfortable position.  Since he didn’t seem inclined to move anytime soon, Jak settled himself and continued touching.  In return, Daxter nuzzled his shoulder.

“Sorry,” his friend mumbled after a little bit.  “Think I ruined yer shirt.”  Jak shrugged: he’d been covered in worse.  What did he care about a little snot after traipsing through a sewer?  “An’ thanks…  I still don’t get it, but I’m glad yer not just puttin’ up with me.”

“Yeah, right.  I don’t have the patience to just ‘put up’ with anything anymore.”

“Well, ya haven’t smacked me an’ my smart mouth inta the middle of next week yet, so yer patience is better than you think.”

“It’s called restraint.  You should learn it.”

“An’ miss a chance to be a pain in Torn’s tattooed ass?  As if.  Smug bastard deserves everythin’ he’s got comin’.”  Jak snorted, but couldn’t deny the twitch of a smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth.  “Hey!  You smiled!  That wasn’t even that funny!”

“Can’t prove it,” he responded, feeling good-naturedly belligerent for some reason.  It was like all the worries and problems that had started the night off so badly were suddenly gone, or at the very least no longer so overwhelming.  Once again, the world had constricted back to just the two of them and this time, there was nothing more to take in.  He could see Daxter scowling at him so well in his mind that his eyes saw it, too.  If anything, the lack of sight only reinforced how little anything else mattered right then.  They were together, they were safe, and, most importantly, they still had that connection between them that made them more than best friends.  Nothing else seemed important compared to that.  He grinned again as Daxter started poking at him, pushing and demanding he acknowledge something they both already knew, but wanting the validation of being right.  It was like they were thirteen again, arguing about some minor trinket.  They argued for a bit, pushing and pulling at one another in a way they hadn’t for far too long before settling back down.  Then something strange happened.

Jak looked into the surrounding darkness and he saw himself staring back.  Darker, older, scarred, yes, but strong and proud and unashamed of whom and what he was.  The odd thing was, he wasn’t afraid of what he saw.  Even with the black horns curled up over alabaster hair, the dangerous glint of fangs peeking out from a renegade grin and the sharp, black nails that could rend all they touched, there was nothing fearful about him.  The other him glanced slightly to the side.  Jak followed the gaze and smiled when he recognized the fiery head resting against the shoulder, asleep for all intents and purposes.  Hands designed for combat gently carded through golden red hair, earning a murmur of contentment.  He blinked and the image was gone, replaced once more with Daxter staring at him curiously.  He brushed off all the questions that came next, content to simply hold and enjoy the company. 

Because for the first time in a long time, the dark held nothing more.

***

_And you know you can love, baby, if we’re to fight_  
 _‘Til dawn, when the world takes you back from the path_  
 _And we’re shattered, but this is what it’s coming to._  
 _As you push into drive at the risk of your life_  
 _On the streets of the night where your love comes to town_  
 _Oh, it’s lonely, but you can be in love, too._

__~Number Two – 009 Sound System~_ _

\-------------------------------------------------------------

To be continued.


	2. Not Strong Enough (Apocalyptica feat. Brent Smith)

Daxter tapped his foot impatiently, eyes darting around in nervous trepidation.  He didn’t like this whole set-up.  There was something very wrong going on here.  What exactly remained an unanswered question, though.  Having spent most of two years learning first-hand the ins and outs of the concrete jungle he’d been locked into had given him that almost sixth sense that kept rat babies like him from being lunchmeat.  It had saved him a time or two before, so he didn’t just ignore the feeling that this was…off somehow.  Except there wasn’t really anything dangerous or threatening around; it just wasn’t as it should be.  And for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why.  He was surrounded by the same dirty, monochrome buildings and ashen scraps of sky he’d seen every day since crash landing in the hell known as Haven City.  The Industrial Sector had always been particularly noted for its dreary, uniform aesthetic (though that may just be his personal bias speaking), but now it seemed even worse.  He couldn’t seem to focus very well and none of the random thoughts that usually hung out in his head made that much sense.  Maybe he was coming down with a fever…?  That would go a long way to explaining why he felt so disconnected, why the buildings around him kept blurring together…

Some indistinct yelling drew his attention, such as it was, to the end of the alley he’d been forced to (volunteered to?  He couldn’t remember…) wait in right before Jak flew around the corner.  His friend wasn’t running per se, but definitely moving with enough purpose that all other thoughts were abandoned.  If it was important enough to send Jak on his way, then Daxter needed to be on his toes.  Something was probably about to get blown up and they needed to be somewhere else when that happened.  He barely managed to open his mouth, intent on asking what had happened, when strong hands wrapped around his shoulders and shoved him back into a wall.  The move took him by complete surprise and the world upended for a moment.  He blinked to clear his head, trying to focus on Jak, who was suddenly close enough to take up his whole field of vision.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jak asked, voice and face almost painfully neutral.

There was no opportunity to even process the question, let alone answer because suddenly, Jak was kissing him…and kissing him none too gently, either.  He struggled a bit a first, beyond confused with the what and why of this suddenly intimate situation, but whatever was wrong with his world right then made it a token effort at best.  With fortified brick behind him and solid muscle in front, all Daxter could do was submit.  He relaxed, and the kiss softened in turn, still edged with need, though no longer taking by force.  Jak’s hands released their death grip on his shoulders to slide down and take a possessive hold on his hips, pulling them roughly together. He let out a surprised gasp as a rather demanding hard-on was ground into his immediately interested own.  Then he moaned when Jak took the opportunity to press for a deeper kiss, tongue almost shyly sliding in to touch his own.

After that, the thought that something was faulty with this whole scenario was completely forgotten.  There were more important things to think about.  Like the breathy sounds Jak made when Daxter started kissing back, meeting each tentative touch with a sure, if not enthusiastic response.  Or how safe it felt with those long arms wrapped around him, keeping them as close as physically possible.  The texture of the hair his hands were tangled in, the warmth permeating his skin to reach places he’d never thought could be warm, the fingers flexing against his hips, and oh, yeah, that hot, hard length rubbing just right against his, slowly driving him into utter madness.  That alone was much more important than questioning why this was happening in the first place. 

So he didn’t.  He gave in to the desperate need, moving against Jak the best he could.  Their kiss broke down into a thousand little ones snatched in between frantic breaks for air.  He tried to shift, tried to somehow increase the friction between them, but his feet refused to move.  The problem was solved with a possessive growl that just about made his knees give out as Jak shifted his hold from Daxter’s hips to his ass, almost lifting him from the ground.  It still almost wasn’t enough, there had to be more, but gods, he wanted it and Jak seemed to have absolutely no intention of slowing or stopping anytime soon.  He arched and twisted in Jak’s hold, so close to the end they were both aching for…

…and landed flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling of an unfamiliar room. 

No, scratch that.  He knew where he was.  Torn had begrudgingly given them another place to stay about a week ago.  Not that Daxter had given him much of a choice; it was either move them to a new safe house, or find someone else crazy enough to perform his suicide missions.  They had argued long and hard, but if it was one thing the redhead knew how to be, it was stubborn.  In the end, Torn muttered something about still needing them on the Underground’s side and handed over a new key.  Their new place was a vast improvement over the last.  It was actually big enough to have a few pieces of real furniture.  Sure, the table, chairs, lamp and bed were as worn as everything else in the slums, ready to collapse at the slightest hint of abuse, but for the time being, it was home enough.

Daxter took a deep breath and swore.  A dream…the whole damn thing had been a dream!  He didn’t know whether to be pissed off because he’d been so close, or grateful he’d awoken before making a mess of the bedding.  He did manage a strangled scream of frustration as he stumbled into the bathroom.  At least Jak wasn’t there (where the hell was he anyway?) to make this any more awkward than it already was; he was pretty sure he’d just curl up and die if he’d gotten caught in another wet dream.  It had been mortifying the first time, even with the cover of complete darkness to act as a buffer.  Even Jak wasn’t so naive he wouldn’t put two and two together after getting a repeat performance.

He barely made it to the bathroom before sheer desperation forced his hand down his pants.  It was insane how hard he was, how badly he wanted.  It hadn’t even been that erotic of a dream!  Dry humping through clothing was nothing compared to the very first dream, where his best friend had gone down on him without hesitation or reservation.  That had gotten him off twice, once during the dream itself and then again after he’d jerked awake, sticky, unsettled, yet still very hard.  Or how about the daydream that started with them in the shower after that stupid sewer mission and ended with Jak getting ready to fuck him through a wall?  Thinking about that one had almost gotten him busted two or three times now and not in a good way.  At this point in the game, Daxter was pretty sure he’d imagined the two of them doing almost everything a person could do while having sex, several things that were blatantly impossible, and at least one that required him to have the flexibility of a rubber band, but would be fun to try anyway.  There was a whole host of real visuals, lurid imaginings, and down-right kinky scenarios for his brain to flip through, trying to rouse that last little bit of lust that would send him flying over the edge, and what did he latch on to this time?  The kiss.  A hot, wet, throat swabbing, groan-inducing-just-thinking-about-it kiss that made him harder than he’d been in a while, granted, but comparatively nothing to really get worked up over.

Daxter groaned as his feet slid out from under him, legs trying to spread open further.  Maybe it was because it was Jak who’d kissed him that made the whole thing unbearably sexy.  Hell, he hadn’t even really _thought_ about sex since the Misty Island fiasco.  It had seemed like a moot point as an ottsel, and even though he was of the correct age (and now species) to fully appreciate a warm body entwined with his, simply staying alive had taken precedent over any sort of personal sexual expression.  Then he’d seen Jak in that damn Guard transport, barely alive and unresponsive, but that was a hell of a lot better than the dead Daxter had thought he was at the time, and the floodgates had opened.  His sex-drive had jumped out of neutral and straight into overdrive.  Every night since then, no matter how tired or fried he was from whatever near miss they’d escaped from that day, he’d dream of the two of them together in ways that had never crossed his mind before.  And every day, he worked harder at trying to keep them to himself.

Despite the need to get off and do so _now_ before there were some very uncomfortable questions to answer, his hand refused to hurry along as well.  The strong, sure strokes weren’t too fast or too slow, just aggravatingly not enough.  Frustrated tears gathered in his eyes as he forced himself to stop and take off his gloves—he did not need chaffing there, and warm, slightly sweaty hands felt better than worn leather.  Not that if it had been Jak’s hand he would have cared in the least…  That was off topic; he needed to focus!  Getting discouraged was only going delay the process.  He closed his eyes and tried to relax back against the door, letting his mind do whatever it wanted.

…He was still in the bathroom, but now Jak was there too, watching him with those dark blue eyes that refused to give anything away.  Daxter bit back another groan, embarrassed and turned on by the scrutiny.  He probably liked it too much.  Not so much the being watched while he was getting off part, but the fact that he had the whole of Jak’s attention.  There was always too many other things going on, someone else to shoot, somewhere else to go, that sometimes he felt lost in the mix.  Being the sole focus of thought, even for a moment, was as exhilarating as it was unnerving.  His hand faltered slightly as a particularly sharp jolt of pleasure rushed down his spine.  Another hand, this one much larger than his own, wrapped around his to help reestablish the rhythm, the grip just that much tighter, the pace just that much faster.  In no time, he was panting again, little whines escaping from a jaw clenched tight.  Jak leaned forward, hovering over him.  His body tried to arch up, desperate for some other kind of contact, but the blond remained just that little bit out of reach, pushing their hands harder and faster all the while.

Finally, Jak seemed to take pity on the writhing body beneath his.  “You should tell me,” he said quietly before drawing Daxter into the softest of kisses…

He bit down harshly on his hand to muffle his scream of completion only to have his throat constrict and cut off all noise for him.  The world disappeared in a mad rush of heat that was almost too intense to handle, yet he never wanted to end.  When it did come to an end, he curled reflexively into himself, trembling and twitching through the aftershocks, his other hand still idly stroking the last bits of pleasure out.  Then his body relaxed completely with one final shudder, hot and cold and numb and over-sensitized all at once. 

The lingering bliss ended all too quickly.  His first rational thought was panic—how long had he been in there?  Had Jak come back yet?  Heard?  He pushed himself off the floor and onto watery knees, leaning heavily against the sink as the feeling began to return to his limbs.  Some water on his face and a few slow breaths brought his focus back.  He started cleaning up, hands still shaking, while the accusations ran thick through his mind.  This was _wrong_.  Jak was his _friend_.  Jak was already _in_ a relationship with a gods-honest _girl_ like it was supposed to be, even if she was MIA right that moment.  He’d endured Precursors’ knew what at the hands of a messianic megalomaniac and his certifiable commander for two years, been free for just about a month and was currently the most wanted man in a city that was on the losing end of a war.  Getting involved romantically with another _guy_ , especially the one who was partly responsible for all that bad stuff to begin with was such a horrible, far-fetched, idiotic move that—

Daxter stilled in his clean up, rethinking that last line.  That’s what was different.  That was why a kiss was enough to send him into blind, mindless ecstasy.  Because somehow it had gone from being just about sex to something deeper and infinitely more complicated.  Now that he thought about it, in all of the other dreams and fantasies he’d harboured since learning Jak was still alive, they had never once kissed before today.  No foreplay, no talking, no emotion.  It was just getting off in the fastest way possible, supposedly with no strings attached.  Even in the loneliest of moments, he had never called their weird symbiosis a relationship and thought of it in romantic terms.  Stress relief, curiosity, the product of too much focused intent…whatever the fuck it was that was causing these dreams in the first place, there wasn’t anything more to it. 

Was there? 

The ghost of a once prominent smile flashed through his mind, accompanied by the low, rumbling chuckle that was still a touch too dark to be real humour echoing in his ears.  The small flutter those things made in his chest turned to painful wrench as realization sunk in.  He tried to laugh and almost cried.  Oh Great Dead Precursor Gods, he was.  He really was…

“I’m such an idiot.”

The rest of his cleaning was hurried.  More cold water on his face got rid of any lingering blush his skin might have kept.  He made sure to splash lots of water around to hide the fact that certain places had been actively washed.  Then he took and held a deep breath, pushing all his errant worries and thoughts aside.  Ifs had no place on the streets of Haven City.  Only _what was_ and _what was not_ mattered.  If he did nothing else with his day, Daxter was going to survive it and he was going to make Jak survive it, too.

Another breath and he stepped out to see Jak just coming in, the bag in his hand smelling distinctly like hot bread.  Ah, that’s where he’d gone—breakfast.  Torn had finally decided he was done being pissy with them and had called for a mission briefing at the ass-crack of dawn.  Personally, Daxter was more than content to stay were he was.  The consistency of shelter, protection, and warmth had already done serious damage to his routine and the thought of sleeping on the street or in a busted up zoomer was almost torture after sleeping in a real bed.  Jak was chomping at the bit, however, more than ready to leave it all behind for another wave of frenzied violence against the Baron.  Despite having to work harder keeping certain parts to himself, the reprieve had given them the chance to be something other than circumstantial accomplices in a drawn out game of revenge.  They had become real friends again, something that had almost less meaning out there than being a lover.  It hurt being force to give up that much, his recently recognized emotional attachment notwithstanding.

Daxter smiled away the concerned look he received, doing what he did best by saying everything and absolutely nothing at the same time.  They shared the fresh buns while going through their last equipment check.  He complained about being left behind until Jak pointed out they wouldn’t have breakfast otherwise and that if it was that big of a deal, he could stop eating at anytime.  An immature finger flip and a bun stuffed almost whole into his mouth probably saved him from doing or saying something stupid.  Then they were out the door, feeling ready for whatever Torn threw their way.

***

“Are you two going to be okay?” Tess asked quietly.

Her voice was directed to Jak, but her eyes were locked on the unmoving form of Daxter.  The same Daxter, who had upon entering the Hip Hog simply walked behind the bar, picked up an armload of various bottles, curled into the darkest corner he could find and started drinking.  Jak had to blink a few times to refocus his eyes on his friend.  He still couldn’t tell if the redhead was asleep, or if he had just run out of things to drink away.  In either case, there was a wall of empty bottles between him and the rest of the world.

“We’ll survive,” he finally said, looking back to his own glass.  It was empty again and he didn’t remember drinking most of it.  In fact, he didn’t remember how many glasses of beer he’d gone through since settling in himself.  Ultimately, he decided he didn’t care, but that he’d probably had more than enough for the night.  Morning. Whatever time it was.

“Would it help to talk about it?”

He knew the pretty barmaid was just trying to be nice.  She didn’t deserve to be snarled at or told off just because she was a convenient target.  Didn’t lessen the urge any, though.  How would it help to talk about something she couldn’t possibly begin to understand?  Haven was everything she knew.  She’d been born and raised with brackish water, dirty streets, too many people crammed into a space too small and buildings so tall they blotted out the sky.  She wouldn’t know what the sea smelled like or how the waves sounded as they brushed warm sand, what it was like to see the sky light up with countless stars or the freedom that existed because there was barely a break between nature and civilization.  And because Tess didn’t know any of those things, she couldn’t understand their loss.

A part of Jak hated her for that.

His lack of response was apparently answer enough.  Tess picked up his glass and set another in front of him.  “I need you to drink this before I’ll let you go,” she said, pushing what now registered as a glass of water closer.  “Make sure he drinks some, too, or you’ll both be sick when you wake up.  And Jak?”  He looked up.  “I know I might not understand what may be going on, but I’m a damn good listener.  Sometimes, that’s all you need.”

He managed a half-coherent nod before she walked away.  Another nice gesture he felt like growling about.  If he had something that needed to be said, he would say it himself.  And if he needed someone to listen to him, Daxter would listen to him.  Right now, though, he needed neither of those things.  He didn’t want to think, or feel, or do anything.  Wasn’t that the point of drinking in the first place?  He shook his head again and promptly turned his thoughts elsewhere.  Unlike all the alcohol that had appeared, then disappeared from in front of him, Jak drank the water slowly as he tried to consider their options for the night.  The safe house they were supposed to be using was literally on the other side of the city.  Then again, any place he felt comfortable crashing for a few hours was a long way from where they were.  Which meant the real question was did he feel steady enough to try driving there, or were they walking.  Considering he couldn’t remember how much alcohol had passed in front of him, it wasn’t really a question.

Tess gave them a sympathetic smile when they finally left.  It was still dark and miserably cold, but at least it had stopped raining.  That had to have been the worst part of trying to clear out the Metalheads from Dead Town, the constant drizzle that had left them soaked and chilled within minutes of starting.  It was unpleasant enough to go sloshing through the acidic muck and crumbling structure.  The rain had only made it that much more difficult to find stable footing and fight enemies who obviously relished such conditions.  And they’d just kept coming, too, wiggling out of shadows he’d sworn he’d cleared, always ten more just around the next corner, their high pitched screams made sharper by the white noise of the rain.  Well, it was the worst part beyond having that little unvoiced hope that someday, somehow, they’d find a way home die miserably with a tiny, almost unheard gasp.  Then the rain had just been insult on top of injury.  Gods, today had sucked. 

Now though, walking through the damp streets almost devoid of all other pedestrians, it seemed as if the city had been trying to wash itself up a bit.  The prevailing smell of rot had mellowed out under the clean scent of ozone.  Lights reflected off the thin layer of moisture still clinging to the ground, brightening the otherwise drab, utilitarian landscape.  Even the overbearing, omnipresent shadow the Palace made seemed less threatening, all shiny and lit up against the black night sky.  Maybe it was just the booze talking, but it did look kinda pretty in its own, unique, alien sort of way.  Too bad he already knew how ugly it really was under the gloss and colour, or he might have been tempted to think maybe this could become home.

Whatever Daxter thought, the redhead was keeping to himself.  With the exception of his “I need to get drunk” right after exiting the old city airlocks, he hadn’t said anything.  Looking at him now, it was almost impossible to tell he’d been drinking at all.  Unlike the time he’d been “helping” Tess with her undercover work and drunkenly told Krew off (which, now that he thought about it, was the only time he’d ever seen his friend hammered), he looked and acted stone-cold sober.  There was no weaving to his steps, loud singing, noxious hiccups or belches, or any other obvious signs as Jak had come to know them that signaled inebriation.  If he hadn’t been able to smell the saloon on Daxter’s clothes, known him well enough to realize the pink tinge his ears had taken wasn’t normal, or been there watching the whole time, then no one would have been the wiser.

The silence made for a very long walk, but in a way, Jak was glad for that.  The cold and forced movement seemed to have helped burn off any lingering fumes in his head, leaving him comfortably numb inside and out, yet still in some semblance of control.  That merely meant that he didn’t look like an idiot when he reached for the safe house key because almost nothing would have saved him from the awkward tackle that sent both him and Daxter to the floor as soon as the door closed.  He went down with an undignified yelp and a grunt as he was landed upon.  He rolled to see if his friend was okay, only to be confronted by a very intent, glassy-eyed look.  Wait.  He knew that look.

“Dax, whatever it is, don’t.  You’re drunk.”

“Then it’s the prefect time to do somethin’ stupid.”  And then Jak felt the electrical shock of warm lips pressing against his own.

The reaction was instinctual; his arms wrapped around the form on top of him while the rest of him relaxed back against the floor, eyes drifting shut.  He tilted his head a little more to the side, sealing their mouths together in a more comfortable manner.  His hands splayed out over a thin back and slowly, unconsciously, began stroking.  Daxter made a small noise, something between surprise and pleasure, and arched into the contact.  A hand curled into Jak’s hair, touching and petting in return.  Then one of them shifted slightly, making them both moan softly.  At that point, it seemed only right to try and make the noise again.

He didn’t get the opportunity. The warm, wet mouth that had been attached to his pulled away.  Soft kisses were spread across his jaw.  A hot cheek pressed against his as warm breath rolled over his ear right before teeth latched on, giving it a gentle tug that was soothed by a quick flick of a tongue.  Another small moan worked free from Jak as a tingle slipped down his spine, making him arch.  Daxter stole the opportunity to kiss down his throat, alternating between firm licks and the gentlest scraping of teeth over sensitive skin.  His hands moved lower and felt his friend shudder in response.  Just when he thought those lips were going to descend on his again, everything stopped.  He slowly opened his eyes to see Daxter still poised over him, looking flushed, hurt and so very lost.

“You…”  His voice was raw, breathless.  “You’d totally let me do whatever I wanted to ya right now…wouldn’t you?”  The question went unanswered as Jak watched something else inside him break down.  “Fuck,” he mumbled, crumpling, burying his face into Jak’s shoulder.  “Fuck!  You weren’t supposed to respond, weren’t supposed to like it!  Yer supposed ta throw me off an’ be disgusted an’ tell me off fer bein’ drunk!  An’ ya fuckin’ just let me…”  The rest was incoherent.

Okay, Jak was officially confused.  What the hell just happened?  He took a deep breath against the sudden rush of light headedness as the situation slowly caught up with him.  “Dax?  Daxter, come on.”  He rolled his shoulder and pushed at his friend, half holding him up to see his face.  “Talk _to_ me.  What are you going on about?”

“Yer supposed to—”

“I got that part,” he interrupted.  “Tell me why.”

“’Cuz yer not supposed to like kissin’ me.  If ya don’t like kissin’ me, the dreams’ll go back to bein’ just ‘bout sex.  An’ if it’s just sex, then I don’t feel like an idiot fer wantin’ somethin’ I can’t have.  I won’t fuck up what we are now an’ you won’t hate me…”

“I told you, I don’t hate you.”

“Even knowin’ I’ve been usin’ you as jerk-off material for the last couple months?”  A sardonic smile greeted Jak’s widening eyes.  “Yeah.  Months.  Ever since I figured out you were still alive, I’ve imagined us doin’ all sorts of kinky stuff.  You’ve gotten me off more in the last month alone than I ever managed back home.”  He flinched a little at the last word, but recovered quickly.  “Figured it was just hormones puttin’ on a face ‘cuz I don’t trust anyone else an’ it’s borin’ if yer by yerself.  Embarassin’, but meanin’less.”  The expression faded into wistful sadness.  “An’ then ya went an’ kissed me.  Ya kissed me an’ it felt so good I didn’t want ya to stop…  But people just havin’ sex don’t kiss.  People in relationships kiss.”  He started sinking down again, like he was trying to hide from something.  “People who’re in love with each other kiss…  Not fuck-buddies, an’ especially not pretend ones…”

Daxter’s head nuzzled into his shoulder again, leaving Jak to stare at the ceiling and collect his thoughts.   …He didn’t even know where to begin.  Wasn’t this supposed to be weird?  He had just been _kissed_ by his best friend…the guy that flirted with anything with a generous bust line and a nice ass.  Forget the fact that they were two guys, because after two years in prison he’d learned that affection was affection regardless of who was giving it, not that he’d cared that much to start with.  No, it was weird because they were friends.  The best of friends.  Practically brothers for all intents and purposes.  Especially now, when there was no one else to turn to.  You didn’t _want_ to make-out with your brother, hear him moan, feel him pressed against you. 

But…who else was a better candidate?  Who knew him better?  Who cared the most about him, cared for him as a person and saw past the parts that were dark and scary?  Who else would laugh and tease him in a good way about his inexperience with such things?  While it was certainly possible this wasn’t Daxter’s first kiss, it was Jak’s.  The happy, fluttery feeling in his stomach, the warmth in his chest, the tingle in his lips…it was everything kissing was supposed to be in his mind, given to him by the one person he truly trusted.  So maybe it wasn’t as weird of a situation as he thought…? 

Perhaps the more important question was if he hadn’t been plastered and feeling like the world had already ended, would Daxter have ever said anything?  If it hadn’t been literally thrown in his face as a possibility, would Jak himself have ever contemplated the merits of moving beyond their current friendship?  He didn’t know…

He said as such and received a snore in response.  Jak rolled his eyes.  At least that much hadn’t changed.  True to brattish form, you argued with Daxter on Daxter’s time schedule and this round’s time had evidently run out.  Someday, he was going to get the last word in, even if it killed him. 

Jak rolled his friend off as nicely as he could, taking a moment to let the room settle before getting back to his feet.  There was serious consideration given to just sleeping on the floor.  He ultimately rejected the idea; however bad they were going to feel in the morning would only be amplified and compounded if they spent the rest of the night there.  Somehow, he got them both sprawled out on the bed in a semi-comfortable fashion.  Daxter was just going to have to deal with sleeping amid all his squirreled away possession because Jak had no interest in trying to find them all.  He gave the room a half-hearted sweep out of habit before settling down himself, haphazardly pulling a blanket over them to keep out the chill.  When he fell asleep, it was while watching Daxter’s face, wondering if all that much would really change between them if they decided to be more than friends.

***

_And it's killin’ me when you're gone away,_   
_I wanna leave and I wanna stay,_   
_I’m so confused, so hard to choose_   
_Between the pleasure and the pain._   
_And I know it's wrong, and I know it's right._   
_Even if I try to win the fight,_   
_My heart would overrule my mind,_   
_And I’m not strong enough to stay away._

~Not Strong Enough – Apocalyptica feat. Brent Smith~

\-------------------------------------------------------------

To be continued.


	3. Tori no Uta - Lia

Morning, if that’s what this fresh hell could be called, came far too early and far too loudly for Jak’s tastes.  He felt like he’d been stomped on by an angry bull yakow.  Everything between his ears felt like it had been crammed so full of wool, he could feel every little pulse of blood in his brain.  His tongue seemed stuck to the roof of his mouth, his stomach was making unhappy noises and if that infernal beeping didn’t stop soon, he might very well go Dark and never come back.  The only comfort he had was the solid, yet comfortable surface he was resting on, which was apparently not as solid as he thought—he felt it dip and whined as his stomach dipped with it.  Cool fingertips brushed over his forehead.

“Just hang on a lil’ bit more, pal.  I’ll get ya sorted out.”  The beeping finally stopped as the dip once more smoothed out.  He felt something get pulled over his head, helping muffle the extra noise.  “What the fuck do you want _now_ , Torn?  No, Jak’s busy.  Tell me or blow it out yer ear.”

The ensuing silence made Jak brave enough to crack open his eyes.  The world was gray and fuzzy…wait, that was a blanket.  He peered cautiously out to see Daxter leaning against the far wall, scowling at the communicator in his hand.  “Yeah, yeah, don’t get yer panties in a twist.  We’ll be there—Hey!  I said we’ll be there an’ we will.  If ya’d quit yappin’, we might even get there early.  Yeah, fuck you too, asshole.”  He deliberately turned the device off and chucked it somewhere out of sight.  Hands scrubbed tiredly over his face with a sigh, but he smiled when he saw Jak.

Crawling carefully back onto the bed, Daxter laid out so that he could peer back.  “Well mornin’, buttercup,” he said in a soft, yet endlessly amused tone.  “You still three sheets to the wind, or just hung out to dry?”  Jak tried to glare.  It only made his head feel worse.  Daxter snickered and started stroking his face again, the cool helping the incessant pounding just behind his eyes.  “Guess it just shows you can’t be perfect at everythin’ ya do.  But seriously, buddy, don’t let it get ‘round that it was just beer that knocked ya flat.  Totally ruin yer badass image.”

“Dax…”  It was supposed to be a growl.  It can out as little more than a whimper.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.”  He smacked the back of his own head.  “Feel better?  Good, ‘cuz we got just about two hours to make ourselves presentable.  Apparently we finally did somethin’ worth gettin’ noticed an’ now that Shadow-guy wants to see us.  So up an’ at ‘em, hero; we gotta save the world again.”

Jak groaned, trying to hide under the blanket again.  Just what he wanted, to see the man he’d been searching for since the day he’d escaped the Fortress while nursing a hangover that could knock a Lurker for a loop.  Sounded like the perfect way to create a good first impression.  A particularly sharp pain in his head made his stomach twist uncomfortably.  Those wonderful hands stopped petting and started pulling.

“C’mon, big guy.  Bathroom.  Now.  The world’s gonna hate ya for a minute, but you’ll feel better for it in the end.  Trust me.”

Movement did decidedly unpleasant things to his system, but he allowed Daxter to get him mostly upright and into the bathroom, where he promptly lost whatever was left in his stomach.  Long fingers gently pulled his hair up and back, stroking and soothing until he was through.  He was forced to drink some water, swallow what he was told were painkillers, and brush his teeth before being allowed to stumble back to bed.  From there, Daxter fed him tiny bits of bread and more water.  For a while, it honestly felt like dying would have been the better option.  Every time he tried to choke down what he was offered, it felt like everything was about to come back up.  But Daxter was patient in that “do it yourself or I’ll do it for you” manner that Jak knew better than to argue with.  It was a bitch to deal with it, but after a little while, he actually began to feel better.

“How did _I_ manage to get the hangover?” he grumbled, finally feeling well enough to be sitting up and helping his friend sort and repack.  “You drank twice as much as me.”

“An’ I’ve been drinkin’ six times longer than you,” Daxter pointed out.  “I’d hope my tolerance was higher.  I also didn’t drink like I was dyin’ of thirst.  I may’ve finished all those bottles, but not a single one had more than a few servin’s left.  How many beers didja blow through that first hour anyway?” 

Jak flipped him off, unable to come up with a suitable verbal response.  Okay, so maybe it was his fault for not paying more attention to how much he drank.  But he’d never walked out of the saloon feeling more than a slight warmth after drinking, and that only lasted for a few minutes.  The eco treatments had changed more than just his temperament.  He didn’t sleep or eat as much anymore, nightmares and lack of decent food aside.  It took twice as much to wound him as it did Daxter and he still healed in days rather than weeks.  He could bend metal with his bare hands, for Precursors’ sake.  Why would he think a few beers would kick his ass this hard? 

Daxter stuck his tongue out in response.  “Hey, if it makes ya feel better, I don’t remember leavin’ the bar last night.  Word to the wise, stay away from the shit in the purple bottle—it will jack you up six ways from next week.”  He frowned when Jak continued to stare at him.  “What?”

“You seriously don’t remember anything from last night?  Nothing at all?”

“Should I?”

Jak just shook his head.  Unbelievable. Only his friend could make an exceptionally huge deal out of something and then forget all about it the next day.   A part of him was almost insulted at being forgotten like that, but something about the whole affair was more exasperating than annoying.  It answered a couple of the questions Jak had as well.  No, Daxter wouldn’t have said anything and yes, he would still be thinking about taking their relationship to a more personal level.

He kept the revelation to himself, however.  At least for the time being.  The redhead became increasingly agitated with the brush-offs and misdirects, but Jak took a vindictive sort of pleasure from being able to annoy him like this.  Served the loud mouth brat right after waking up without so much as a fuzzy tongue from their night of drinking.  He managed to hold out until they were just about to leave for the meeting.  That was when Daxter had reached the end of the begging and cajoling phase and moved on to the demanding portion.  He planted himself in front of the door and refused to move until Jak told him what he wanted to know.

“You’re not going to drop this, are you?” Jak asked mildly.

“Nope.  I can do this all day.”

“I could just move you myself.”

“An’ lose yer hands in the process.”

“I’m sure there’s other things you’d rather I did with my hands.”  He wasn’t sure where that had come from, but the reaction it caused was interesting.  Whatever snippy comeback was next was swallowed nervously.  Daxter’s eyes went wide as he flattened himself against the door.  Something purred in the back of Jak’s mind as he leaned forward.  “This is what you did…” he whispered just before sealing their mouths together.

His first kiss had been electrical.  His second still had the same spark, but was much, much warmer.  It was like being submerged in perfectly warmed water head first, the way it melted through his system, making him hot in a not unpleasant way from the tips of his ears to the ends of his toes.  The lips against his were warm and slightly chapped, soft in a way he had never experienced before.  It felt good, relaxing something in that dark place that now existed inside him.  He felt Daxter’s hands tentatively press against his chest and leaned into the touch, deepening the kiss slightly before pulling away.

Short, sweet, simple.  Yet they were both breathing hard and flushed.  It was a rather fetching shade, Jak thought.  A rosy pink quite unlike any other he’d seen on his friend before.  It stained Daxter’s cheeks and the very edges of his ears, turning still wide, wondering eyes an even more brilliant shade of blue.  How much more would it take to cover most of his skin in that colour, he wondered absently.  The thought didn’t get far.

“J-Jak?”  The redhead sounded so small, uncertain and almost scared.  It was impossible to deny the urge to kiss him again.  Of all the things he didn’t know, the one thing he did know was that he never wanted Daxter to be scared around him.  He hesitated slightly this time, giving his friend time to move before once again letting their lips meet.

This time, all he felt was heat.  It flooded his senses, curling through his chest before finally setting in his stomach.  From there, it radiated out, growing steadily stronger, more intense, until every part of him seemed almost uncomfortably warm.  It somehow felt even better this time around, demanding more.  There was a squeak as he pressed harder, the hands that had been resting now clutching desperately at his shirt.  He rumbled in satisfaction, but there was something more he could sense himself reaching for now that he was saturated in this half-melted, dizzying, relaxed-yet-jittery feeling.  Something that was supposed to come next.

In the absence of knowing what that something was, Jak pulled away again.  He pressed their foreheads together, trying to ground himself and provide support at the same time.  When the hands fisted in his shirt finally released, he pulled back the rest of the way.  The pretty blush had intensified on Daxter’s cheeks, flowing further up his ears and starting to creep down his neck.  He shouldn’t have been as pleased about that as he was…

Their hearts stopped racing.  Their breathing slowed.  The world completely reasserted itself and still, the dazed look on Daxter’s face refused to leave.  Jak began to shift nervously in the silence.  Under any other circumstance, he probably would have been smug as hell for finding a way to shut his friend up.  Now, it was just nerve wrecking.  Had he done something wrong?  Was he not supposed to respond?  Had this been one of those things that you’re only supposed to do when you’re drunk?  It only became more awkward the longer it went on.  Daxter would have made some lame joke and laughed it all off.  The best Jak managed was a dry cough, followed by a mumbled, “We should probably get going.”

That seemed to snap the redhead from his trance.  “Shit!  We’re probably already late.  Damn it, an’ after I told that son of a Lurker we’d be there on time…”  And then he was out the door without looking back.  Jak quietly followed, determined not to let the sudden ache in his chest mean anything.

***

For the first time in what felt like forever, Daxter felt clean.  He was wet, cold, and bruised from his (failed) attempt to herd Metalhead Scouts, but gloriously clean.  And that alone made the rest of it therefore worth it.

Haven Forest was a bright, sunny spot in an otherwise desperate landscape, a balm for wounds that kept getting ripped open.  He could barely count how many ways the current situation was screwed up, and frankly, he was starting to get tired of trying.  The list was starting to seem endless.  Might as well label the whole mess as fubar-ed and move on.  A home that wasn’t recognizable as theirs, a high and mighty sage with amnesia and a tree root up his ass…  Hey!  Maybe that’s what Torn’s problem was!  He’d been taking it so long from Samos he needed something a little bigger to keep himself upright.  Okay, that was a visual he really didn’t need, but who needed any of it?  Not him.  Not when he had Jak.

Sort of.

They really hadn’t spoken since that morning.  A bit of banter when they realized this great Underground leader was none other than Old Loghead himself, some quickly shouted instructions while trying to round up the Metalhead Scouts, but that was the scope and depth of any conversation.  And now that they had a little time to breathe, Jak had taken off on the jetboard.  So Daxter had used the freezing water to bathe, then decided it was pointless to clean himself up only to put dirty clothes back on and began washing clothes, too.  In fact, he’d washed just about everything that could be washed, waiting for Jak to stop avoiding him.  The only reason he knew he hadn’t simply been dumped was because he could still hear the humming of the jetboard crescendo and fall away again at regularly timed intervals.  He still hadn’t gotten more than a glimpse of blond and blue disappearing into the green flora.

Figuring Jak would probably want to clean up as well, he’d left the soap at the water’s edge were it would hopefully be tripped over and crawled up on a rock to sun.  After basking long enough to think of something other than how damn cold he was, he finally admitted it was his fault Jak had run off.  The night before was still a huge blank, though he got the gist of it.  Drank himself into a stupor, kissed the blond bombshell that was his best friend and lust object, and only after that, finally passed out properly.  Wasn’t that hard to figure out, really.  He would have been more distressed over not remembering his first real kiss if he hadn’t been freaking out over the fact that he’d broken Golden Rule Number One—give Jak absolutely no reason to leave.  It was the only absolute in his constantly shrinking world, the only rule he never pressed or tried to undermine somehow, being cross-eyed drunk notwithstanding.  Jak had let him slide on that transgression, turning the tables and kissing him like it meant more than a tease to humiliate him and what did he do?  Broke Number One _again_ by standing there like the slack-jawed idiot people accused him of being.  Jak had a right to be put off after a stunt like that.  Hell, Daxter wanted to slap himself silly.

But at the same time, he couldn’t quite put himself on the line like that.  No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t just thrust the tattered remains of his heart at Jak and then watch them blow away in a wind of indifference.  Or worse, burn under hatred.  He’d learned the hard way that the most important thing in his life was the friend he’d tried to leave behind.  Sure, he’d survived the streets of Haven all alone once before, but having Jak back in his life had just proven he was really only as strong as he needed to be.  Strong only when something desperate was there, pushing him forward.  If he tried to push it, there’d be no way to uncross that line once he drew it, no way to come back to this dysfunctional yet amiable co-dependency nonsense they had going on right now.  Even if they didn’t split outright, it would only prolong the death throes.  It hurt too much just thinking about it.  There was no way he’d live through the real thing.

The thrum of the jetboard cut off abruptly.  Daxter peered down from his rock to see Jak putting the contraption away as he slowly moved toward the shoreline.  Even from a distance, he could see the blank scowl on Jak’s face, the rigidity of his posture screaming everything that dark, rolling voice wouldn’t.  Pain, anger, betrayal…Jak had pulled back from it all, turning himself in to the mindless weapon Praxis had tried to fashion him as.  Everything that had been wrestled back to the surface was buried once more, the diligent work of weeks gone in a single flash of stupidity.

…Maybe they’d already crossed that line.  Maybe it had been crossed long before either of them had known it was even there.  It was more than impossible to go back to the children they’d been or the kinds of relationships the young and innocent could maintain.  They had changed.  The way they related to each other had changed.  The home and people they knew didn’t exist anymore, leaving nothing but dust behind.  The only direction left was forward.  Wasn’t that a desperate enough reason?  And if this gamble turned up snake-eyes, well…the world wasn’t likely to miss him anyway.  Anything was better than letting Praxis win this last little bit of Jak, though.

Thinking and doing were two entirely different things.  It took a while to be sure enough in his chosen course of action that he’d be able to burn the world down without suddenly chickening out.  Daxter knew himself—he’d try it once he was really under the gun.  While he psyched himself up, Jak had taken the soap as the hint it was meant to be and was studiously washing up, knee deep in the water and still mostly clothed.  That meant he was suitably occupied by the time enough iron had been strapped to nerve to allow Daxter to leave the dubious safety of his rock and approach.  He stood on the water’s edge, trying to think of something close to appropriate to start this downward spiral off when his mouth opened and said something for him.

“I love you.”

Jak started, turning to stare at him with a mixed expression.  “What?”

Oh, damn, he hadn’t meant to start off like this…  “I love you,” Daxter repeated, sounding a hell of a lot calmer than he felt.  “At first, it’s ‘cuz you were my friend.  An’ then you were a brother, ‘cuz I didn’t have anyone else.  An’ I think that if none of the rest of this bullshit had happened, that’s where it woulda stayed.  But it did, an’ now…now it’s more than that.  I love you more than just a friend or a brother…  I just…”  Words failed and his nerve fled.  “Just kill me quickly, okay?”

Nothing moved for what felt like an eternity.  Then, slowly, Jak held his hand out, like he wanted help climbing out.  Without a second thought, Daxter grabbed his hand, completely missing the evil glint in Jak’s eyes.  As soon as he had a firm grip, the blond yanked his friend into the water.  Daxter shrieked, once when he was pulled off his feet and again when he surfaced after his dunking.  Holy Mother of the Precursors, that water was fucking cold!  What little warmth he’d gained back was long gone and he couldn’t really feel his lungs, which was making breathing interesting.  Before he could gather his wits, arms wrapped around him, hauling him back against a broad chest.  He cringed, waiting to be pushed back under.  Not the nicest way to die, but he couldn’t really breathe anyway…

Instead, Jak sighed heavily against his neck.  “You’re so aggravating, you know that?” he growled.  “You say one thing, you do another, and no matter which way I go, it’s just wrong.  I can’t keep up with the constant change.  So which is it, Dax?  Which am I supposed to react to, what you say, or what you do?”

Slowly, carefully, Daxter turned.  The angry indifference had fallen away, making Jak look young, lost, and melancholy.  It made him feel like he’d kicked a litter of crocadog pups.  “You of all people should know what a coward I am,” he finally said, finding it hard to look Jak in the eye.  He picked a relatively harmless spot on his chest to focus in on.  “But I won’t lie to ya.  If ya can’t trust anythin’ else, trust me to tell you the truth.”

He received a short nod.  “How long?”

“The dreams, about two months,” he said, flushing guiltily.  “The love thing…a couple days.  At least, that’s when I first started really thinkin’ about it.”

“And this morning?”

“You startled me.  All I could think was that you were tryin’ to make fun of me ‘cuz I couldn’t remember the night before.  An’ when ya kissed me again, everythin’ just kinda…I don’t know, shut down.  I didn’t know how to respond, so I didn’t do anythin’.”

“I wasn’t making fun of you.  I wanted to.”

Daxter finally managed to look up, unable to stop the sudden hammering of his heart.  “Really?”

The expression on Jak’s face had softened a little more.  He nodded, resting their foreheads together.  “And now that you know that, what would you have done?” he asked quietly.

“This.”  He lifted his head the little bit needed to bring their mouths together.  The arms still around his waist tightened and he found his own sweeping over Jak’s broad shoulders to twine around his neck.  The frigid cold and dripping wet were forgotten.  Haven City and all her problems were forgotten.  All that mattered was that Jak was kissing him back and it was even better than he imagined it would feel.

A violent shiver pulled them apart.  They fumbled back to dry land, spreading out their clothes to dry before finding a piece of sun all their own.  The awkwardness between them had abated, but Jak had yet to actually say anything about his little confession.  The silent signs of acceptance were all there—he was close, relaxed, and stretched out on their patch of grass in the same manner he’d stretched out on the sand after a good swim as a child.  Even two days ago, that would have been enough.  Now, though, Daxter really needed to hear it.

“So where does that leave us?” he asked softly, absently braiding strands of grass together because it gave his hands something to do.  He kept his eyes on his work, trying in vain to be patient so that his heart didn’t thump itself right out of his chest. The seconds ticked by without so much as an acknowledgement that something had been said.  Telling himself he deserved such treatment after doing the exact same thing to Jak that morning wasn’t enough to keep his heart from sinking.

“I don’t know,” the blond finally said, nearly causing Daxter to jump out of his skin.  He stretched and sat up.  “Where are we?”

The sarcasm came naturally.  “Havin’ a pow-wow about avoidance issues in the middle of nowhere while free-ballin’.”  Jak blinked, then cough-laughed himself right back to the ground.  Daxter scowled even though he was pleased he’d finally broken the reserved, “fuck-off” attitude so present nowadays.  “Yeah, laugh it up, blondie.  Graves ain’t ever deep enough ‘round here.”

The chuckles were mostly swallowed, leaving a smile behind that hadn’t been seen since leaving Sandover.  Jak pulled him down and kissed him again.  The sinking feeling turned into a stuttering flutter so fast, it felt like his heart actually stopped for a second.  Damn it, Jak was going to give him a coronary before they even got to the fun stuff at this rate…

“I don’t know, Dax,” he said again when the broke apart, serious once more.  “I don’t know a lot of things.”

“Then tell me what ya do know.”

A tentative hand brushed some hair from his eyes before trailing down his cheek.  “I know I need you.  I know that I can trust you.  I know that I never thought about any of this until that night after we snuck into the Palace, and that it still seems a little weird to think like that about you even though I know you think like that about me.  I know I liked kissing you, and being able to touch and hold you, and that it really hurt when you didn’t respond this morning.  Beyond that…I just don’t know.”

“Sounds like you know plenty to me.  Wanna know what I know?”  Jak nodded.  “I know the reason Torn’s got a stick up his ass is ‘cuz Samos put it there.  I know that that Tess girl’s got a great rack, but Ashelin’s got the kinda ass you can bounce credits off of.  I know I’m one of the last people on the planet someone wants to get caught in bed with an’ that tellin’ you all this is doin’ bad things to my blood pressure.  I know bein’ alone scares the hell outta me an’ I’ll do damn near anythin’ to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

“So now that we both know what we know, do you know if ya want to take the chance?  ‘Cuz even if this ends badly like everythin’ else seems to, I meant what I said.  I love ya, Jak, an’ I don’t know if I can let that go.”

“I don’t want you to let go.  I just don’t know if I can give you what you’re looking for.”  Fingers pressed to Daxter’s mouth stopped the next desperate and probably slightly whiney statement.  “I want to try.  Just…be patient with me.”

“So showin’ yer fingers what my tongue can do to yer dick is probably too fast, right?”

“Daxter!”  The yelp was half indignation, half command, and all embarrassment.  Jak blushed darkly, the heavy crimson shade flooding his face before overflowing to his ears, neck and chest.  The fingers in question twitched, but interestingly enough did not pull away.  Daxter grinned, feeling giddy and light-headed, and resisted the urge to do as he said very well if he did think so himself.  Teasing was okay.  Traumatizing was not.  Instead, he kissed Jak’s palm and pulled the hand away to further ignore temptation.

“Sorry,” he said, not feeling as such in the least.  Jak didn’t buy the apology either, if the look on his face was anything to go by.  Probably had something to do with the cheeky grin Daxter couldn’t quite control.  It was hard not to feel reckless now that he knew his feelings were at least accepted, if not somewhat hesitantly returned.  He was so busy being warm and fluffy inside, he almost missed the light bulb going off in Jak’s head.  “Uh-oh.  Now what?”

“Just figured something out.”

“Care to share with the class…?”  As soon as he said something, Daxter realized he’d stepped into a trap.  As quickly as it had come, the blush was disappearing, revealing a calculating, predatory look.  Oh, shit.  He knew that look.  “Jak…” he warned, tensing.  “Don’t do it.”

“Do what?”  A person shouldn’t be able to sound innocent when smiling like that.

Survival instincts kicked in.  There was no way he was going to walk into that secondary snare voluntarily.  Daxter found his feet and bolted, narrowly missing his friend’s lunge.  He tripped a bit at the playful but challenging roar that came next as Jak gave chase.  Speed and agility counted for a lot when trying to evade an enemy.  Given the terrain, it even gave Daxter a better than average advantage.  Had his opposition been anyone else, he probably would have gotten away.  He was against Jak, however, who made up the difference in skills with stamina, patience, and a _freaking jetboard_ , which was cheating!

When he was finally caught from behind, he somehow managed to keep himself from elbowing Jak in the stomach.  When he was lifted from the ground and carried back towards the water, however, he stopped caring about whether or not he hurt the guy he’d just confessed to loving.  He struggled, and kicked, and swore, and got absolutely nowhere for the effort.  Jak’s arms were iron bands attached to a solid stone frame.  He wasn’t going anywhere but wherever Jak directed him.

“You know, Dax,” he murmured softly, causing the redhead to freeze, “you look a little hot.  Maybe you should cool down some before we head back.”

“Jak—!”  That was as far as he got before he was completely airborne.  Displaying every ounce of his ungodly strength, Jak had chucked him effortlessly into the deepest, furthest from shore spot the lake had to offer.  For the second time in an hour, Daxter found himself involuntarily under water.  He sputtered and flailed against the icy dunking, trying to remember how to breathe and swim at the same time.  He glowered at his friend as he numbly pulled himself back onto shore.  Jak, the low down, dirty, rotten, _cheating bastard_ waited patiently for him, entirely too smug.

“Prick,” he managed to get out through chattering teeth, snubbing the hand that was offered.  “When hell freezes over.”

“Look where we are.”

“…Point taken.  But you throw me in that water again an’ yer gonna wake up missin’ pieces.”

“You’d miss those pieces.”

“Not as much as you.”

Jak’s laugh rang free through the air.

***

 _We watched the fading vapor trails._  
It was too glaring and I ran away—I was always weak.  
Frustrated that I couldn't stay unchanged since that day,  
Couldn't stay unchanged forever,  
I let go of your fingers.

 _~Tori no Uta – Lia~_

\-------------------------------------------------------------

To be continued.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These lyrics have been translated (probably badly) by myself from the original Japanese. It belongs to the soundtrack for AIR.


	4. True Believer - E-Type

Jak hissed.  Daxter scowled.  The boy beside them peered out from between his fingers.  The crocadog beside him whined.

“You, shut it,” the redhead growled, not looking up from his gory work.  “No one wants yer opinion.”  He did spare a glance to the boy, who was obviously both horrified and fascinated with what he was seeing.  Daxter nudged him with his arm.  “Hey, kiddo.  Why don’tcha go see if Vin’s got any water, hm?”  Wide blue eyes stared at him.  “It’d really help me out if ya could.”  He was stared at a little while longer before receiving a nod.  The boy wandered away, crocadog in tow.  Daxter waited until they were across the room before grumbling under his breath, “Dumb-ass mutt’s gonna get us all killed.”  He looked up when Jak chuckled.  “What?”

A grimace accompanied the soft sound.  “Never figured you as the type who’d do well with kids.”

“An’ I never figured the KG could hit the broadside of a barn, but here we are…”  The blood on his fingers was starting to get tacky.  He gingerly lifted the gauze he’d plastered to Jak’s side to see how the wound was clotting.  After what seemed like an eternity, it finally was.  Thank the Precursors for finally doing something useful.  He put it back and pressed a little harder, earning another hiss of pain.

“F-found it!” Vin announced, producing a battered metal box from somewhere.  With the same precision he did everything with, the engineer unloaded his medical supplies, eyeing the two bloody renegades in a controlled, assessing way that completely contradicted his usual paranoid mania.  “Is that going to need stitches?” he asked, staring at the hand pressed to Jak’s side.

“Shouldn’t.  Bleedin’s almost stopped,” Daxter answered.

“It’s still a pretty bad place to get injured,” Vin countered, gently peeling back the gauze to look for himself.  “See?  You can already see where just standing has opened it wider.”

“An’ stitchin’ it closed is gonna do what?  More damage when he rips ‘em out two hours later when we get in a fight somewhere, that’s what.  Tape it closed, compression bandage to support, an’ I tear through the port until we find a crate with green eco.  Problem solved.”

“Can we stop talking like I’m not here?” Jak huffed, interrupting the ensuing argument.  “Dax’s got a point.  I’ll just rip it back open.  It needs to be closed permanently.  Now.”

The warm fuzzy feeling at having Jak side with him promptly dissolved when Vin nodded.  “Cauterization would probably be the better choice, given everything you do.  Are you sure, though?  It’s gonna hurt a lot.”

“I’m used to pain.”

“Whoa!  Wait!  What?”  The outburst was ignored.  Vin nodded nervously as he turned to gather whatever it was he needed as Jak relaxed back against the blinking console behind him.  “Tell me that wasn’t it sounded like.  Hey!”  Daxter’s jaw clicked shut as darker-than-normal blue eyes bored into him.  Jak didn’t have to say a word that point, the sting was felt anyway.  He straightened up, biting back his first scathing response.  “Fine.  Do whatever the hell ya want.  Ya do anyway.”  There was a moment of dawning realization in Jak’s face as he turned away, but Daxter was too ticked off to really care if the blond got it or not.  He turned away and stalked to the other side of the platform.

Well, the break had been nice while it lasted.  The last several weeks had been relatively quiet compared to their normal streak of mayhem.  Relegated back to errand boys for the most part, it had pretty much been one odd-job after another.  Mostly “take this message here” for Torn, or “pick up this package” for Krew, things that generally took little to almost no time to accomplish and would have had him complaining about their simplicity being beneath their skills if he hadn’t been so intent on using that extra free time keeping his mouth glued to Jak’s.  They hadn’t done anything more exciting than the tongue tango and some timid, stilted petting, but for now, that was enough because Jak was kissing him back.  It also meant that Daxter was learning to love cold showers and that was mostly fine, too.  They’d take as long as they needed to take to get to the other things because there was something endlessly endearing about watching a man who started brawls for fun become shy, hesitant, and easily embarrassed.  If nothing else, it proved that the Jak from Sandover, whose greatest hardship had been trying to find ways to escape boredom, was still at the heart of Jak of Haven.  And that meant there was hope for calming the restless anger still simmering under the skin.

But the honeymoon was over now.  He knew he should be grateful for all the unabridged time they’d gotten to settle into being more than just best friends.  The uncomfortable newness had worn off and they could speak, touch, and look each other in the eye without blushing or stammering like the awkward teenagers they were supposed to be.  They were a solid unit again before going out on a high-risk, low-gain venture of some sort.  He still wanted to rip out that log from its spot in that ridiculous-looking afro and beat Samos with it.

_Too busy to watch the kid my ass,_ Daxter thought with a sneer.  _Too damn lazy’s more like it._   How in hell that man managed to raise a daughter was beyond him.  Especially since he knew Keira had been an obnoxious brat through most of early childhood.  This kid everyone was convinced was the heir-apparent for a throne and kingdom on the edge of annihilation was a gods-sent gift by comparison.  Old enough to have enough sense of self the constant shuffling between caretakers and locations wasn’t upsetting, smart enough to follow conversations that should have been over his head, quiet to the point of being mute while still being able to entertain himself for long hours on end…what wasn’t there to love about a child like that?  More importantly, what was Samos doing that required so much concentration he couldn’t be bothered to look up every once in a while and see if the kid was still there?  Speaking of which…

He whistled softly, one of the few benefits of having teeth like his, gaining first the crocadog’s attention, and then the boy’s.  He waved them closer; no one needed to see what Vin was doing, let alone a kid.  Besides, it gave him something to do while this terrible-to-begin-with idea played itself out.

“Hey.”  He managed a tired smile when they were close enough.  “You okay?”  There was a thoughtful blink.  “That tumble earlier didn’t do anythin’ like this, did it?”  He pointed to the street burn on his arm.  There was another thoughtful blink before the boy started twisting around, looking himself over for injury.  Daxter snorted in an attempt to keep from laughing as the crocadog “helped” by sniffing, earning a ticklish giggle—the first sound he’d ever heard from another kid as well.

At this point, the answer to his question was obvious and a little piece of stress melted away.  As badly as it had sucked jumping from the still-moving-at-high-speed zoomer right before it exploded, he would have felt worse if something had happened to his temporary charge.  Boy grabbed crocadog, Daxter grabbed boy, and Jak had hurled them all as far as he could, taking the brunt of the heat and shrapnel, which was what had left a good-sized hole just above his hip.  Landing hard and sliding on his side had still hurt like a bitch, but nothing on Daxter was broken or punctured, just contused and abraded.  It was nice to know the pain had been worth something.

His ears twitched, catching the hastily swallowed snarl as the air took on the greasy, caustic smell of burning flesh.  It took a lot of willpower to not turn around and make the whole thing stop, especially when a sympathy pain blossomed in his side.  It was like the worst cramp of his life coupled with the slow, burning pain of deeply infect cut.  And nothing he did eased it.

Small hands tugged at his shirt, effectively drawing his attention out of himself.  The kid looked up with big, concerned eyes.  “S’okay,” Daxter reassured, taking the opportunity to sit down.  That helped a little bit.  “Big guys like me an’ Jak are designed to take it.”  The little one didn’t seem convinced.  “I mean it!  We’re the genuine article.  Saved the world once an’ everythin’.” 

For all that good that’d done in the end…  He didn’t say that, barely even let the thought cross his mind.  Instead, he got caught up in what he did second best:  telling stories.  It had been fur-raising to actually live through, but the whole thing made one hell of an impressive tale to tell.  It was somewhat cathartic, too, about being able to share that little piece of history with someone who wouldn’t laugh or doubt the veracity of his words, even if he was exaggerating in a few places.

He was just getting to their dramatic entrance into Rock Village when a tiny, weird shiver went up his spine.  He paused and looked up to see Kor standing not far away with a rather funny look on his face…and not the relaxed, enjoying something kind of funny.  “Uh, hey there.  Samos said to bring the kid here, that you’d look after him.”

Kor blinked and the weird look disappeared under a smooth smile.  “Ah, yes.  I did.”  The smile sharpened a bit when the kid ran to his side.  “I’ll make sure to keep him close.”

For the second time since the day they’d met, Daxter felt like something was wrong with the old man.   Creepy wrong, like an axe murderer neighbor or that random stranger your gut tells you never turn your back to on the off chance that’s a knife they’re clutching just out of sight.  He wanted to pull the kid away, back to his side and keep him there until he knew what exactly was giving him the willies.  Which was stupid because it was _Kor_ , the guy who’d directed them to Torn and the Underground in the first place and was one of the few willing to say thank you for all the work he and Jak put in.  What was there to get so worked up over?  Seriously, the man was trusted by Vin, and Vin was practically afraid of his own shadow.  The only other one to share his opinion at the moment was the crocadog that seemed to hate everyone.  Not exactly the greatest backup to have on hand… 

As usual, Jak saved him from doing something awkward and regrettable, this time by taking up a conversation with Kor about being good with animals as he quieted the crocadog’s growling.  The more they talked, the more it sounded like a prelude to another mission.  With a quiet sigh, Daxter pushed himself back to his feet, cringing as his body protested.  He still had a twinge in his side and all the muscles he’d landed on were stiffening up.  Vin was kind enough to hand him something to wipe the mostly dried blood from his hands.  He was trying to decide how much he cared about the gore under his nails when he felt another tug on his shirt.

“Yo, squirt.  Looks like story time’s over for the day.  We’ll pick it up some other time, ‘kay?”  He couldn’t help but smile at the enthusiastic nod.  Not even Jak was that interested in what he had to say.  The expression morphed into a soft frown.  A kid that old had to have a name, or at least a street handle, yet no one ever used it.  For someone who was so important, it was odd always referring to him as “The Kid.”  “Ya know, there’s somethin’ I been meanin’ to ask you.  You got a name, right?”  Another nod, this one more than a bit subdued.  “You wanna tell me it?  We’d be real friends that way.”

The boy’s mouth opened, but he slapped a hand over it before a sound was made.  A sad look took a hold of those expressive eyes, his gaze lingering a bit too long on hands still streaked with blood as he slowly shook his head “no.”  Daxter frowned some more as he knelt down.  “Hey, it’s okay, don’t worry ‘bout it.  As long as ya don’t mind bein’ called ‘Evil Widgit’, then we’ll call it close enough.  Only good friends get nicknames anyway.”  A little giggle was his answer.  “I’m Orange Lightnin’, also known as Dax the Metal Masher, or just Daxter, if ya wanna be borin’ about it.  If ya ever need somethin’, I got yer back, all right?”  A smile accompanied the nod this time.  “Good ta have ya onboard, Widgit.  I’ll catch ya later.”

The ensuing laughter was enough to put a smile on his face throughout the entire long walk to the airbus waiting in the port.  It was only after they were settled in for the ride to wherever (he hadn’t really been paying attention and holy damn, couldn’t the jerk driving give a little warning before take off—like making sure his passengers were _all the way in_ before hitting the throttle?) that he pulled out his knife and carefully started scraping out under his nails.  He was going to have to more careful about that in the future.

No one needed to be reminded that their very name caused bloodshed.

***

“Well, that was more fun than it shoulda been.”  Daxter flopped face-down onto the bed.  “Ow.”

He was now thoroughly convinced of two things.  One, it was possible to strain every muscle in the body without actually breaking something and two, the world really was out to get him.  Okay, so maybe he deserved to be knocked flat by the aftershock destroying those eco wells produced, but didn’t he also have the right to feel a little cocky?  Sure, it had been his fault all the plasmite bombs had been armed _before_ getting to the Strip Mine, increasing the difficulty of their task exponentially.  He’d still offered to take on the task alone, had still helped destroy over half the wells by himself and had even found the last well Jak had skipped right over.  He’d made a mistake, fixed said mistake, and what was his reward?  Having the wind forcefully knock from his lungs and blood dripping from his ears. 

As if the threat of being blown to gooey bits hadn’t been enough to get the blood pumping, he’d then had to strap himself to the outside of a turret cage and take potshots at Krimzon Guard Flightsuits with the blaster rifle while Jak tried to take down a tanker with the turret itself.  Why?  Because not going with Jak, no matter how inconvenient or impractical it was in the end, was too much like getting left behind.

A large hand slipped into his hair and Daxter groaned into the blanket.  “You’re mumbling again,” Jak said in an amused tone.  Unable to lift his head and glare properly, an annoyed finger flip was offered instead.  His hand was adjusted so that his displeasure was shown to the correct party.  He grumbled and rolled away, even though that meant losing the fingers running along his scalp.  It felt too good, pulling out the stress from an over-tired body.  It was almost enough to send him right off to the sleep he’d more than earned today.  But sleep wouldn’t get the gun oil off his hands, or wash the anxious sweat off his skin, or pick a few more pieces of gravel from under the scabs along his arm and hip.  Leaving it all until the morning was a bad idea, no matter how much his brain tried to disagree with it.  So he found his feet and the last of his willpower and started for the bathroom.

“Dax?”

“No, ‘m still mad at you.”

It was pretty much auto-pilot from there on.  Start the water, strip down one piece at a time, look for anything that might need a stitch or three to remain useful.  Check self for anything still bleeding, possible infection, unwanted passengers, and then the temperature of the water.  If clear and warm, step in.  If not, re-inspect everything. He winced when the spray hit his face; sometimes the pressure was nonexistent and sometimes it could strip enamel.  For now, it was still harder than he would have liked, but that may have just been the soreness talking.  He leaned against the ugly tile and let the water do most of the work.  His eyes drifted shut as the white noise filled his still aching ears, fingers absently picking at anything raised on his skin.

“—xter?  Daxter!”

He jerked back to himself, momentarily confused about where he was and what he’d been doing.  Cold tile pressed against his back.  His arms were pinned over his head, wrists held in a single strong grip. He was being constrained against the wall bodily, the larger bulk keeping him from squirming free or getting leverage to kick…and there were two fingers pressed to his temple—the sign he’d given Jak to indicate he was safe in situations where instinct overrode all else.  Daxter took a deep breath and relaxed.  Slowly, carefully, he was released.  Jak stepped back, concern written all over his face.

“You okay?”

Still slightly dazed, Daxter blinked, mind cheerfully occupied with other things.  Jak was in the shower with him.  Jak was _naked_ and in the shower with him, and oh holy damn, did he look nice with all that water running over skin still tanned from a childhood filled with sand and sea, emphasizing sleek muscle attached to a body that had grown up in all the right ways.  Damp hair, the colour of burnished gold now that it was wet, clung attractively to his shoulders and neckline, the smaller pieces usually held back by goggles now curling slightly against his face.  In the yellowed light with wisps of steam and spray surrounding him, Jak looked nothing less than a sex god come to earth and what wouldn’t Daxter do to—

Fingers snapped in front of his nose.  For the second time in probably as many minutes, the redhead jerked back to the present, this time cracking his head against the wall as well.  “Ow!  Yeah, what?  I’m fine.”  This time, he got smart and found somewhere else to look so he didn’t become distracted again.  “Whaddya want?”

“I want to know if you’re okay.”

“Told ya, I’m fine.”

“This is not _fine_.”  His arm was pulled out in front of him.  He could only stare at the gory mess the stretch of skin had become.  In his unthinking quest to be rid of all the extra material that had been shoved under his skin, his fingers had torn everything apart, leaving bleeding furrows from shoulder to wrist.  There was still blood and skin under the nails of his other hand.  If he hadn’t been stopped, how much more damage would he have done?

“I wasn’t thinkin’,” he said somewhat weakly, twisting free from Jak’s grasp.  His wrist was released, but there was still a heavy, demanding overtone to his friend’s posture that said that wasn’t answer enough.  And his arm was starting to sting.  Irritated, Daxter growled, “What do you want from me?”

It was like a switch had been flipped.  Suddenly Jak was the one having a hard time making eye contact and there was a suspect red tinge slowly working its way down his ears.  From renegade merc to fumbling teenager in point-six seconds flat.  It would have been funny if the redhead hadn’t felt so aggravated by it all in the first place.  “You seemed really tired…” the blond stammered.  “It didn’t seem like you were going to get through a shower before falling asleep, so I…I thought I’d come in and…help…”  He trailed off quietly, staring very hard at the wall just to the right of Daxter’s face.  He had almost turned into a tomato from embarrassment, the colour taking over all the way down to his chest as his hands began to twitch.

Well, that was an interesting leap his friend had just taken.  Daxter had no quandaries when it came to bearing skin—never had before and probably cared even less now.  Modesty was ill-suited to street life, even if he’d never gone full monty professionally.  Jak, on the other hand, was painfully body shy.  Yet, still, even now, after all the patch-ups their misadventures left them with, he rarely undressed more than was absolutely necessary, and certainly never completely in front of someone, best friend included.  It was the biggest reason they’d never done more than make out.  Jak had freaked when roving fingertips tried to sneak up under his tunic the first time, and still jumped now when hands went much past his shoulders.  Daxter knew he should be grateful he was allowed to touch period.  No one else was allowed to get that close in the first place, let alone get away with some of the things he did.  It meant he was trusted, and that that trust could be easily broken.  So he kept his hands firmly planted on shoulders or tangled in hair until Jak got bold enough to do more.

This, however, was not the next step he’d envisioned taking.  He’d resigned himself to weeks of casual touching, friendly, non-threatening brushes of hands across places that weren’t even all that intimate, maybe lingering on those certain areas that invoked a sharper reaction than others.  Having Jak just jump into the shower with him was still relegated to the “keep dreaming” section of his brain.  The amount of self-sacrifice the blond was showing with an action like this would have been normal in any other situation but this one.  After such a carefully slow build up, why would he suddenly crash headlong into unfamiliar territory?

…Because Daxter had been pushing away, still angry and slightly hurt since their argument at the Power Station.  They’d gone from spending damn near every waking hour in a lip-lock to practically nothing two days ago.  Interesting—two days was enough to make Jak insecure enough to do something desperate and badly planned.  It was nice to know Daxter wasn’t the only one who’d been losing sleep.  So what to do next…

He peeled himself off the wall and stepped close, carefully laying his hands on Jak’s chest.  His gaze was met evenly, though he could see nerves fizzling around the sides.  Good; that meant neither of them knew what was supposed to come next, and therefore there were no expectations to hold up.  “Did I manage to hit ya?”

Some of the nervousness melted away, allowing a small smile to form.  “No, but you stomped on my toes pretty good.”  Since they both knew it would take a tank running over his foot before Jak would take any serious damage, Daxter stepped a little closer, unable to stop his hands from sliding across warm, wet skin.  His palms skimmed up as fingers traced collarbones, following the flare until he could curl them over broad shoulders.  Gently, he pushed Jak further under the spray.

“C’mon, big guy, let’s get cleaned up before the hot water gives out, hm?”

It was really just a flimsy excuse to touch whatever could be reached.  But Daxter held to that excuse with everything he had left, reminding himself that it wasn’t Jak’s fault that it was only recently that any sort of physical contact had not equated out to pain.  The man was missing two years, for Precursors’ sake, practically living in emotional “pause” while the rest of him took a twisted detour.  It was going to take longer than just a few months to get over something like that.  Nor was it his fault that Daxter’s body already knew what it wanted and tended to be as impatient as the rest of him.  Jak had said at the very beginning he didn’t know what he wanted and Daxter had accepted that, so he had no one else to be frustrated with other than himself.

But watching Jak’s eyes slip closed and his lips part in a soft moan as shampoo was worked into damp hair was nigh on torture.  He wanted to touch, and pet, and stroke everything, not just hair and shoulders when his hands had to do something to keep him grounded.  He wanted to find all those places that caused moans, gasps, and twitches.  Grand Precursor Gods help him, he wanted to lick the water from Jak’s throat and close his mouth over that soft hollow just off to the side until he left a bruise even the scarf couldn’t hide.  And then he wanted to leave those bruises all over, every place that earned even the slightest groan.

It was probably one of the worst ideas he’d had in a long time.  Considering how excited he was getting just standing there while Jak washed his hair in return, he’d be lucky to finish the shower before he really embarrassed himself.  It just made him feel even more guilty when he began running a soaped up washcloth over everything he’d been admiring, feeling those muscles strain and flex as they tried to remain still, trying to be slow and gentle and reassuring that his touch wasn’t going to inflict damage, yet move quickly and efficiently enough so that he could get the hell out of there before he did something stupid—

—like stare at the angry red gash above Jak’s hip.  Still blistered and blackened around the edges, it was starting to show the white of scar tissue through the middle.  Vin had done a good job minimizing the extra damage.  The scar would be heavy, though not really much worse than some of the others Jak bore.

A hand on his cheek helped bring his attention back up.  For once, he couldn’t read the blond’s thoughts based on facial expression alone.  “You’re still mad about that.”  A simple statement that held no accusation, nor any understanding.  That more than anything left Daxter compelled to say something in return.

“Yes.”  He could see the question forming, see the apology that would follow and didn’t want to hear either.  “No, don’t even, Jak.  It’s stupid an’ I just need to get over myself.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“Then what the hell do you call it?  You were right.  It needed to be closed.  Who knows how long it’d’ve taken me to find a crate with eco in it?  They don’t exactly advertise which ones contain instant pain relief.  If nothin’ else, it needed to be done to keep infection out.  I’ve seen what wounds like that can turn into…”  He couldn’t help the small shudder that accompanied that spark of memory, pushing it away as quickly as it had been brought up.  Still enough for Jak to apparently notice because now he was being held in one of those swift, engulfing hugs meant to stabilize the world.

“You’re not stupid,” Jak reaffirmed softly in his ear, and this time, Daxter didn’t have the energy to argue.  “I just don’t understand why it bothers you.”

“’Cuz you can take that pain, but I can’t.  I can’t just sit off to the side and do nothin’…for the same reasons I can’t let ya out on a mission by yerself.  Even if it’s the right thing to do, I can’t step aside…”  He wanted to hide in Jak’s neck and pretend the world didn’t exist, if only for a moment, but wasn’t allowed.  His face was cupped, forcing their eyes to meet again.

“I wasn’t trying to push you out.”  Jak leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss of apology to lips ready to protest some more.  The pull back was brief and then they were kissing again, a bit harder this time.  Each one lead to another, and then another, until they were doing a lot more than just making up.

Daxter fought hard to keep himself under control even though he knew it was a losing battle.  There was too much want bound by too little conscious will.  Jak’s mouth was soft, yet still demanding against his own, the tongue caressing his bold in both presence as well as action.  A far cry from the nervous, sweetly shy kisses of even a week ago, but anything less would have driven him insane.  His back hit the cold tile again and he automatically arched away from it, slamming his fully aroused body right into Jak.  It felt better than it had any right to, so much that his hips bucked twice more before he could use the shock of ice on his spine to still them.  He whined when a thigh pressed between his legs and damn near screamed when a hand that wasn’t his own wrapped around his aching cock, giving an almost sadistically gentle squeeze.  It was enough to free his mouth and gasp, “No! Jak—“

“You don’t want?”  The question was all but purred against his throat, dark and slightly breathless as the hand began slowly pumping.

Hell yes, he wanted.  Wanted so badly that he almost didn’t have a choice anymore.  But not at Jak’s expense.  “Ya don’t haft— _ah!_ —hafta do this!”

Whatever wonderful thing Jak was doing to his neck stopped.  “And if I want to do this?”

The twig his sanity had been resting upon snapped.  Daxter dragged Jak up, kissing him hard enough that their teeth clicked together before shoving his tongue as far down Jak’s throat as he could manage.  One hand fisted into wet hair to keep their mouths together while the other clawed down Jak’s spine, earning a snarl.  His weight shifted as one leg curled up over a sturdy hip, which was obligingly caught and held, giving him the leverage needed to thrust into the hand still tight around him.  There was a moment of painful uncertainty when the blond froze, obviously taken off guard, but there was nothing Daxter could do to stop now.  Cold water and self abuse could take the edge off, make control seem like more than a simple lack of an erection.  Nothing got rid of the want, though.  Just masked it over, letting it build in the background until it couldn’t be ignored any longer.  Right now, Daxter was about ten steps beyond that point and still running.  Stopping would require being forcefully pried off or waiting until exhaustion made it impossible to continue…and maybe not even then.

It was only a moment, and then Jak was pushing back just as hard, all teeth and tongue and deep rumbling growls that ended in breathy moans, possessive kneading and that large, warm body pressing closer.  It was suffocating, intoxicating as frustration poured out through desperate movement.  Their kiss broke down as Jak’s hand finally found the counter-rhythm to Daxter’s rolling hips, leaving them both panting harshly until need made him pull Jak’s head aside so that he could taste the water running down his neck.  It tasted better than anything he could remember, addictive to the point that he’d probably make himself sick trying to lick it all away.  He didn’t have to be careful, though, because as soon as he touched a spot that made Jak shiver, he bit down.

The body against his jerked with another snarl, the hand he was thrusting into tightening all the more.  It was just enough and too much.  Daxter chocked on his scream of completion, arching hard enough to smack his head against the wall again, but he didn’t feel it.  All he felt was hot, liquid, and completely undone as the tension drained out, one hard pulse at a time, until he was boneless and floating in an odd sort of contentment.

When there was finally enough blood back in his brain to allow thought, it wasn’t the ache in his head or the cramping in his fingers that took first notice.  No, it was the way he could feel Jak staring at him.  Daxter forced his tired eyes open (Why couldn’t he go to sleep yet?  It was a good reason, if he could just remember…) and felt the sudden urge to cry.  Not a sad cry, or a pained cry, but one that was so happy it had to leak out through tears.  Flushed and still winded, Jak probably wasn’t even aware he was staring, let alone staring with such an unguarded look in his eyes.  Darker than they had been in Sandover, lighter than those heavy moments right before the decent in to eco rage, and totally unhindered by any of the paltry emotions either situation held, Jak’s eyes had turned a twilight hue of blue that was breath stealing on its own.  But those eyes had been their sole means of communication for nearly ten years; Daxter could hear more there than any words now voiced.  Unveiled right down to the core, what he saw now was enough to stop hearts.

There was no adequate way to describe it beyond the fact that it was _Jak_.  Everything Jak would ever be, had been, was right now.  Fragile and strong, shy smiles and intense gazes, the power to destroy and tender touches, everything known and unfamiliar other, and oh so devastatingly beautiful in all forms.  This was the Jak he’d fallen for, the one he’d do anything to protect, the one he’d been fighting so hard to bring back from the halls of madness, from under layers of anger and agony since the very minute they’d occupied the same space again.  In that moment, Daxter knew he’d never love anyone as much as he loved Jak.  As sappy and clichéd as it sounded, it was an absolute truth.  And having that man look at him with contentment and warmth was enough to overwhelm his already bruised little heart.

“Jak…” he breathed against already swollen lips before tenderly pressing into yet another kiss.  Soft, sweet, adoring.  A kiss solely for the sake of showing affection.  Hands that had been rather cruel only minutes before once more relaxed, pulling free in order to trace over ears and cheeks.  The break that came next was natural, but Daxter had to steal one more little peck.  “…I love you.”

He hadn’t really said it since his halting confession when it had just been blurted out since it seemed to make his friend uncomfortable.  Jak still didn’t seem to know what to do with that little set of words, but not saying it still felt like the greater crime.  He’d meant it that day in Haven Forest; it was just a little more potent now.  Then, he’d needed to hear some sort of affirmation.  This time the press of lips to his forehead and the quiet “I know” that followed was more than enough to keep the languid warmth swirling through his system long after they made their way back to the bed.

_I am here and now because of you._   
_You're the reason I do what I do._   
_Like a phantom, when you call me, I'll be there._   
_Any time that I'm around, you shouldn't fear._   
_Because of you, that's what I do._   
_Because of you, I'm a true believer._

_~True Believer – E-type~_

\-------------------------------------------------------------

To be continued.

  



	5. Brennende Liebe (Oomph!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things of note for this chapter. The first is that Daxter's driving is exactly like my driving in-game. I never switch zones when I hop on a zoomer unless I have to fire at a transport or something. And I always end up running over a Guard somewhere between here and there. The second is that there is an alternative track for this chapter. I chose this one because I like the lyrics and sound better for the chapter as a whole, but Underwater by Delerium is what got me through the end scene. And yes, I know there's an English version of this Oomph! song (Burning Desire), but I like the way it comes across in German better. Either works, though.

“Aw, yeah!  _That’s_ what I’m talking about!”

“You did it, Jak!”

The secondary line confused him, as did the body Jak suddenly found himself holding.  There were curves and weight that didn’t belong, pressing oddly against him and throwing off the alignment he was used to.  The form was too warm, too, and smelled like machine oil…and why was he staring at the person he should be holding?

Keira almost immediately bounced back out of his arms, blushing and smiling at him in what was probably described as a demure fashion.  Something about it just scraped at his temper.  He was happy to see her alive and safe, or at least as safe as anyone was safe in Haven, he really was.  But the absolute aversion to her touch that rolled through his stomach was almost enough to make him growl when she reached out to take his hand.  He clenched his jaw instead and turned just enough so that her aim would miss.   She frowned when she noticed how deliberate the act had been.

“Jak, you won,” she said patiently, like that would explain everything.  “There’s a bunch of papers that have to be signed and stamped to officiate, not to mention all the paperwork we need to go through to get you recognized as part of my team.  The sooner you get that done, the sooner we can go out and celebrate.”

It wasn’t often that the “Bad Idea” alarm went off in his head, but right now, it was screaming louder than the crowd had when he’d crossed the finish line.  Jak shifted back another step.  “Can’t you take care of it?”

Something dark flitted across her face. “Jak—”

“The less publicity he gets right now, the better,” Daxter interrupted.  The look Keira gave him clearly stated she thought otherwise.  Unfazed, the redhead stepped closer and dropped his voice.  “We run high-risk missions for the Underground.  You heard ‘bout those Hellcats last week, right?  Who do ya think got sent out to destroy ‘em?”  Her eyes went wide.  She glanced back to Jak, who nodded curtly, irked that she was looking for secondary confirmation.  “The less time he spends in any sorta light, the better it is for everyone.  Or do ya wanna bring the KG down on all our heads?”

Her mouth opened, but closed again without making much noise.  She glanced between the two of them again.  “All right, but what am I supposed to put down for names?”

“Orange Lightinin’ an’…”  Daxter grinned.  “Evil Widgit.”

“Daxter, be serious,” Jak growled.

“I’m dead-flashin’ serious.”

“You call the kid that!”

“An’ a part of our job description is protectin’ him, right?  This is just a roundabout way of doin’ that.  People’ll hear that name an’ think of _you_ , an’ brother, no one wants to mess ‘round with you!”

 _Except you_ , Jak thought in exasperation.  _You **love** messing around with me._   “No,” he said firmly, turning his attention to Keira, who was now looking at them strangely.  “Just put down our real names.  Make up whatever information you need after that.  We’ll take the bike back to the garage and meet you there.”

She hesitated a second longer than she probably should have.  “Okay.  Whatever you say.”  She grabbed a handful of papers from the pit desk before walking away in a manner just a hair shy of stalking.  They watched her leave in silence.

As soon as she was out of sight, Daxter turned solemnly to him.  “Well, holy damn, Jak.  I’m impressed.  Five laps ‘round an enclosed track at high speed an’ the bike’s still in one piece.  How come you can never manage that when we’re out on the town?”

“Shut it, smart ass.  At least I drive in the right zone,” Jak shot back, already turning to the task of getting said bike back to its rightful resting place.  “ _You_ can’t get from one district to another without running someone over.”  Usually one of the Krimzon Guard—something he prided himself on.

“Hey!  If they can’t get their lazy asses’ outta the way for a zoomer roarin’ up from behind, they deserve to get flattened.”  Daxter stopped, frowning at the bike.  “Oops.  Spoke too soon.  Ya almost tore the undercarriage free…”

Jak reached over and swatted the back of his friend’s head.  He got a sassy grin in return.  The matter now firmly settled, they started on the task at hand.  The routine was so familiar now, they automatically took their places—Daxter in the lead, picking out the best path forward while Jak’s strength pushed and supported from behind.  They may have argued about those positions from time to time, mostly because being in the lead meant the redhead was always the one who was attacked and hurt first, but there was no denying the fact Dax had a memory designed for dungeon crawling.  He navigated the tangle of corridors under the Stadium like he’d been doing so for years.  Jak didn’t think he could find a way out without going gray from age first.

They found the lift back to the garage proper without incident and hoisted their cargo back into its holding rig.  The doors were still all closed up, meaning Keira hadn’t finished what she was doing and returned yet.  Just as well, probably.  He really didn’t need her temper scraping against his right now, not with that much adrenaline still pumping through his system.  That was a fight for another day.  Today had been a wild enough ride, in more ways than one.

It had been bound to happen at some point.  One of them forced off to the side to wait and watch while the other went and did something reckless.  They may have seen themselves as an inseparable unit, but they were still two individuals according to the rules.  As much as Jak loved screwing those rules over when given half a chance, this once, they had been immutable.  One racer per team.  One person per vehicle.

One of them had to stay behind in order to go forward.

It was a hard decision made harder because Jak still remembered that wounded, angry look Daxter had carried after their argument in the Power Station, the way he’d pushed on with an almost suicidal grudge against anything standing in front of him, like he had to prove over and over again that he could pull more than his own weight.  The sarcasm and scathing witticism had still been there, but they had been defensive gestures, guards against something Jak still didn’t quite understand.  And then the redheaded idiot had climbed _outside_ the turret cage with the morph gun, out in the open without any protection, where a decently strong wind might suck him into oblivion, not to mention what one of those Flightsuit guns could have done to him…  Jak had been almost sick with relief when the tanker finally went down and he looked up to see Daxter still as manic and mouthy as ever, crowing over the victory.

It had had to stop, for no better reason then his nerves couldn’t take the stress.  And while putting a stop to it, he’d realized just how much his best friend hid away from him.  Or maybe it was how much he’d been rather willfully blind to.  The boy he’d grown up with, the one who had run away the day Erol and the KG had come and shattered both their lives, didn’t exist anymore.  There was still a fear in Daxter that sometimes got the better of him, a tongue sharp enough to draw blood if he chose to wield it, but everything else had hardened, solidified.  He bore some very deep, damning scars just like Jak did…they just weren’t as visible.  And Daxter went out of his way to make sure they were rarely exposed.

Which was why he’d backed down without so much as a snarky comment, letting Jak play jockey when they’d been confronted by the decision.  He was covering up one of those internal wounds, the blond knew it.  He was even reasonably certain the subtle withdraw was because the frigid mechanic they’d been sent to deal with _again_ had turned out to be Keira.  What he didn’t understand was why it bothered _him_ so much to see his friend give up so quickly.

No…he knew that too.  It was because something had shifted inside the redhead since that night in the shower.  Something had reformed, becoming complete.  There was a light to Daxter now, a contentment that extended beyond whenever they were fooling around, pretending the rest of the world didn’t exist.  It was a bright and shining thing to Jak, drawing him in, making him hungry for things he still rarely thought about.  Seduction and sex had literally been the last things on his mind when he’d made the decision to walk into the bathroom.  He’d just wanted to prove to himself what he already half knew—touching and being touched by Daxter was a good thing. 

It wasn’t a good thing, it was an amazing thing, and he felt particularly stupid for putting it off for as long as he had.  How had his friend managed to remain sane all those times he’d pulled back, able to feel how hot and hard Daxter was becoming just by kissing and embarrassed because his body was responding in kind?  A part of him realized that was rather the point of it all, but he hadn’t known what to do with what he was feeling.  Nothing was ever said, he was never pushed, so Jak had thought everything was okay.  Something else he’d turned a blind eye to. 

Watching Daxter become aroused through such simple touches, seeing him hurt physically as well as emotionally, and yet hold himself back from what he obviously wanted so desperately…  It had done more than open his eyes.  And seeing that control snap, feeling that deceptively strong body writhe against his, demanding and taking and then that throbbing but momentary pain in his neck right before a completely different wet warmth covered his hand and stomach…  He groaned quietly in frustration, body tightening at just the memory.  Now was not the time or the place.

Despite having wandered nearly to the other side of the garage, Daxter instantly perked up.  “You okay, buddy?”  It sounded like the question was asked right into his ear.  Jak reached under his scarf and pulled the tiny communicator bud out.  Ah, something safe to turn his thoughts to.

“I’m fine.  Hey, where did you get these?”

“Vin.  Thought it might cut down on the screamin’ we do to get coordinated.”

“Or tell me how to cheat on the course without anyone noticing.”

“Hey!  The rulebook clearly stated that as long as it stayed on the track, it was all legal.  Wasn’t cheatin’, it was creative drivin’.  Ya coulda said no.”

And risked losing?  Not even an option.  “How’d you know it’d work?”

“Didn’t,” was the flippant reply.  “It was just the only place to try.  Good line up if ya could get outta the pack an’ boost-jump at the right time.  I’m wholly surprised ya didn’t crash an’ burn like that idiot that followed you over in the third lap.”

So that’s what that explosion had been—  “Wait.  You didn’t even think it would work and told me to do it anyway?”

Daxter gave him a saucy smirk as he hoisted himself up on one of the empty lifts.  “Well, excuse me fer thinkin’ a tough guy like you could take a little bump an’ grind fer the team…”

Oh, that was it.  He’d show that smug redhead a thing or two about bumping and grinding on a track…  He didn’t get more than a few steps before the whir of machinery signaled the garage doors opening and Keira’s return.  He halted where he was, watching as she entered, looking harried but happy.  “Any problems?” he asked.

“Surprisingly enough, no.  Everyone loves the idea of a faceless hero right now, but I don’t think you’ll be able to get out of it next time.”  She dropped her load onto a nearby table, including the heavy looking trophy.  “I do need a couple signatures, though.”

“Got it covered!” Daxter announced, hopping down.  “Krew’s signature’s a sloppy as the rest of him.  Shouldn’t be that hard to forge.”

“Why would you need—”  Keira didn’t get the whole question out before Ashelin walked in.

As nice as it was to finally be thanked for helping with the tanker incident in the bazaar, watching the two women circle and spit at each other like two caterfly queens was about as amusing as a punch to the face and twice as difficult to let slide.  The annoyance level only grew when Daxter’s unsolicited sound effects started.  At least the two they were directed at seemed more focused on bristling than actually listening.  He opened his mouth once and that was a mistake he was never going to make again.  Damn it, no wonder Daxter had been so interested in paperwork.

The discomfort didn’t end when Ashelin left, either.  Keira glared at him before really stalking away, presumably pissed off because of Daxter’s “pinning medals” comment.  He grabbed his erring friend a little harder than he really meant to and forcefully directed him back outside with a growled, “We’re leaving.”

Keira didn’t try to stop them.  Somehow that left Jak feeling more relieved than upset.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded once they were clear of the Stadium.

Daxter shook free from his grip.  “She’s bein’ a petty bitch,” he spat back.  “She hates us, she loves us, she hates again…its bullshit!  Ya don’t get to change yer mind every three seconds.  She wants to play the wounded party, then I’ll give her somethin’ to be bleedin’ over.”  He took a few more steps and paused.  “Fuck, now I’m bein’ the bitch.”

That little slump in his ears mirrored the one Jak had see when Keira had landed in his arms after walking off the track.  The same slump had been present in some form all day, now that he thought about it.  Ever since Keira had stepped out from behind the curtain pretty much, which meant he was right about the cause of the bizarre attitude, but he still didn’t have the why.  “What’s going on, Dax?”

“Nothin’.  I’m bein’ stupid again.”

“You’re not stupid.  We’ve had that discussion already, we won’t have it again.  Now tell me what’s really bothering you.”

“She…”  He started chewing on his lip, a sure sign of distress.  Jak was half worried he’d bloody it before responding.  “She touched you,” he finally admitted quietly.

Jak frowned.  “Touched me…?”

The defenses instantly snapped up.  “Yeah, touched you,” Daxter said hotly.  “Stupid, ain’t it?”  He turned and started walking away.  “Just forget—”

“No.”  There was no way this was going to be a repeat performance of their last argument.  He grabbed Daxter again (there was probably going to be a bruise at this rate) and hauled the other back to his side.  “Stop walking away from me when you’re upset.  I can’t fix it if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“I did.”

“Then try again because I obviously don’t understand.  You can read me like a book without ever hearing a word, but you have to speak in order for me to figure it out.  _Talk to me_ , Dax.  Not at me or around me, to me.”

Daxter stared at him, mouth opening and closing several times before nodding weakly.  “Fine.  We’ll talk back at the safe house.  Unless, of course, you wanna advertize our marital problems to the world,” he said when Jak started to protest.  A quick glance around showed they were indeed starting to attract unwanted attention.  Jak nodded and let go, willing to bide his time.

The walk to their current residence wasn’t far or long.  They hadn’t really moved much in a while.  It was kind of surprising how well they had both taken to crashing in the same spot every night, how quickly their routines had changed.  The click of a lock sliding into place now eased the tension rather than inducing it in Jak.  Daxter had stopped trying to carry their whole world wherever they went.  They laid down when they slept and both of them had started sleeping through the majority of the hours set aside for such activity.  And then there was the quiet wonder of forgetting the outside world all together in favor of the one where it was just the two of them…

Daxter didn’t stop moving once they were inside.  He paced along the wall opposite the bed, once again chewing on his lip.  Jak let him make a full circuit a couple of times before reaching out once more, deliberately gentle as he tried to bring his friend’s attention into focus.  “Dax…”

“She touched you, Jak,” he whined, tensing up.  “She threw her arms around yer neck and ya held her.  I don’t know how to say that any differently.”  He pulled free and started pacing again.  “Barely twenty minutes of face time and she can do that…  You almost broke my arm the first time I tried.  Ya got over it fast, but still…  I mean, I can’t really blame ya.  You and she were a thing long before my head got messed up, so it makes sense you’d wanna,” he seemed to choke on his words, “wanna try again with the person yer supposed ta be with, someone who’s got all the right parts an’—”

“I don’t want her to touch me.”  The growled statement was enough to still Daxter completely.  “It felt wrong,” Jak continued.  “She didn’t smell right.  I didn’t like it.”  Carefully, he folded himself around his friend, nuzzling his temple.  “This is what I want, what I like,” he breathed into a madly flickering ear.  “This fits and feels good.  Nothing about holding Keira did that.  Just you.”

“B-but you—”

“I thought I was catching you.  I didn’t even notice she was there until after she’d already pulled away.  And then all she did was irritate me.”  He hugged Daxter a little tighter.  “And for the record, I didn’t know it was you that first time.  I’d been strapped to that table for hours while they tried to force their experiment to work.  I remember vague images and piece of conversation, but nothing…nothing that seemed real until I realized the voice I kept hearing was coming from you, and not just in my head.”

Slowly, the other relaxed, quietly taking the words in.  Jak turned from nuzzling to whispering kisses, the barest brush of lips over freckled skin.  He worked his way down Daxter’s cheek and behind his ear, letting his nose bury in hair he swore he could still smell the ocean in.  It was impossible, of course.  The water in the city was as metallic as everything else, if not blatantly just disgusting like the port or the wretched community called the water slums, oily, stagnant and barely able to be referred to as water anymore.  Even outside the Walls at the Pumping Station, where he knew it was ocean spray on the wind, all he could smell was grease and hot metal.  Whether the ocean scent was really there or he was just losing his mind, it really only affirmed he was right where he was supposed to be. 

His coaxing was finally rewarded with a sigh of surrender.  “Are ya sure?” Daxter asked softly.  “I could…if you wanna try again with her, I could…”

“Did you listen to anything I just said?”

“I heard that you didn’t like it, but ya still accepted her unconsciously.  That means sooner or later, she’s gonna be able to do everythin’ I can.  Maybe…maybe more than I can…”  There were tears gathering in his eyes now.  “If she’s what you need, I’m not gonna stand in the way.  I just wanna know now if the next time we walk in there, I’m leavin’ alone.”

Alone…  There was an almost audible click as everything fell into place.  Jak felt something twist and knot in his stomach.  That was it, the nearly irrational fear that drove Daxter to such extreme lengths, a trauma that wasn’t so much a scar as it was a constantly seeping wound that had grown so large and deep it could no longer heal by itself.  He’d said it before, said it so many times in fact that Jak felt even worse now that he recognized how much went into that one tiny, little word.  He had been told what the problem was…and he hadn’t listened at all.

But there was nothing he could say to stem the emotional pain, nothing that wouldn’t be a hollow repeat at this point.  That was almost okay; he didn’t seem to be doing so well with words anyway.  Instead, he pulled Daxter around and kissed him, trying to convey though action what he was failing to articulate.  The effect was almost instantaneous.  Thin arms wrapped around his neck, bringing them flush in a way that felt natural.  Fingers tugged at his hair while the body he was holding leaned in even further, resting in such a way Daxter was almost completely dependent upon him for support.  That little arch in the redhead’s spine demanded to be touched and one of Jak’s hands moved to comply, the other spreading over his friend’s lower back to offer support.

With a mewl, the mouth that had been so desperate against his pulled away.  “Jak—”

“I’m not going to leave you.”  The words tumbled out between the kisses trailed along Daxter’s jaw, earning a fluttering gasp as he went.  The last of his sentence left Jak gently nipping at a flushed ear.  “I can stand her,” he breathed, letting his tongue follow the edge up, “I _want_ you.”  The statement was punctuated by crushing their mouths together again.  This time, the slighter form collapsed fully against him.  Even the need to breathe wasn’t enough to pull him away completely after that.  He kept pressing small kisses to whatever was in reach, letting his hands stroke and touch as they pleased.

Slowly, the whimpers and shudders of distress were replaced with ones of pleasure.  Daxter relaxed even as he began to tense in an all-together different way, their almost frantic exchange of kisses slowing back to the languid explorations that marked most of their intimate moments.  But even then, he could feel the redhead starting his subtle shift away, holding himself back despite the desire to continue forward.  The hands that had been carding through his hair seized up.  The once supple spine stiffened.  The deep moans turned breathless, quieted behind clenched teeth.  Jak solved that particular problem with a throat-swabbing kiss reminiscent of the one that had lead to their tryst in the shower.

“Why do you do that?” he asked when they broke apart, breathing hard.  “You love me, but you keep holding back…”

“I’m tryin’ to be nice,” Daxter panted back, swaying slightly on his feet.  “Yer the one who keeps sayin’ he doesn’t know.”

“How am I supposed to know if you don’t show me what’s possible?”  Daxter’s eyes widened as he gave Jak a serious look.  A bit of his flush deepened in embarrassment.  “I don’t think like this…  I don’t know…”  He groaned in frustration and need, once again pulling Daxter in for a demanding kiss, hoping his friend could read between the lines like he usually did.  Was this how the redhead felt every time they’d stopped before?  Damn, he needed his ass kicked.

“You sure?”  The question was just a formality if the hands divesting him of his belt were any indication.  “I don’t wanna push ya further than yer comfortable…”

“Push me, Dax,” Jak growled, only half aware his own hands were following by example.  “Push as hard as you want and let me decide if it’s too far.”

A push was exactly what Daxter gave him—hard enough to knock him back a couple of steps.  Dumbfounded by what had just happened, Jak only stared as his friend closed the distance between them and gave him another solid shove.  This time, the blond stumbled a bit, landing hard in one of the straight-backed chairs they never used.  The wood squeaked a bit in protest, rocking back up on two legs before settling with a jarring thud.  It was enough to knock some sense back into his head.  The reprimand was quietly swallowed when he got a good look at the predatory expression on Daxter’s face, belatedly realizing what he may have just gotten himself into.

In one step, goggles and gloves came off.  Two more saw the redhead tossing aside his shirt and his belt pouches hitting the floor.  By the time he slid smoothly into Jak’s lap, straddling both him and the chair, the only thing Daxter was left wearing was his underwear, which somehow seemed to be less than actually going naked.  Jak’s arms automatically locked around his friend’s waist as he settled in to more easily accommodate the added weight.  Based on the rapid approach, Jak had been expecting the encounter to play out like their night in the shower had; hot, hard, and fast, with bruised lips and random scratches to tell the tale in the morning.  And though the mouth attached to his was by no means gentle, nor were the hands that seemed to be touching everything all at once anything close to slow, it all lacked the almost suffocating desperation from their previous attempt. 

Efficient and clever fingers worked their magic, removing obstacles with the skill of a master pickpocket before trailing over newly claimed territory.  They whispered though hair, relieving him of his own goggles while gently massaging along his scalp, tracing around his ears, pumping them slowly as hips unconsciously rocked forward.  Once, twice, drawing out each movement to the fullest, and then those fingertips were trailing over his jaw, down his exposed throat, his scarf suddenly missing in action.  They tapped at his throbbing pulse to acknowledge how hard his heart was beating before sliding down further.  Then the fingers fanned out, following the juncture of his neck and shoulder around, only to pull back what a light scratching of nails, grazing a spot that sent a jolt through his system.

Palms pressed into his chest, stroking and petting while picking at the straps of his eco harness, the metal and leather clunking heavily to the floor after only a few short minutes.  Then those devious hands began exploring with an almost possessive touch, warm and slightly rough as they pulled against the fabric still in the way.  Over his shoulders, down his arms, back up to smooth over his chest, curl around his ribs, skimming down his sides before ghosting over his stomach on the way to repeat the pattern until it became too much.  Or too little.  Jak couldn’t really think right then, caught between the artful process of being undressed and the deep, hungry kiss that had yet to truly break.  All he knew was that he wanted, Daxter was giving, and that anything that impeded the process was going to die in a painful, messy way.

So when the teasing stopped and the torturous fingers slipped under his shirt, Jak was more than willing to help shed the unwanted article of clothing.  There was a bit of a struggle, trying to get rid of it and his gloves without dumping his partner on the floor, but the brief break in contact only made him want more.  This time, he gave back as good as he got, following Daxter’s tease and retreat tactic when their kiss resumed, hands kneading at slim hips until the first, probably accidental, brush of their chests together.  Then Jak’s hands moved up, pressing and holding the redhead against him, stroking the cooling skin whenever it occurred to do as such.  Daxter began whimpering and writhing in his lap, rubbing their arousals together more often than not.  The hands that had been so confident up until now had started to flutter, their grip hard but unsteady as they continued to roam.  In no time, they were diving back down, fumbling past pant ties, straight to where it was desired most.

Even though he was waiting for it, ready for it, _wanted_ it, Jak jerked back hard enough to scrape the chair across the floor.  Daxter froze, still cupping hard flesh, trembling with the force of his gasping breath now that their kiss was well and truly broken.  Jak felt dizzy, light-headed.  Blood was rushing though his ears and he almost couldn’t get enough air.  At least, not enough to answer Daxter’s shaky query of “Too fast?” immediately.

“No,” he gasped, catching and holding the hand against him when it tried to move away.  “Just…give me a minute…”

Daxter nodded, relaxing until he could rest his head against Jak’s shoulder, careful not to move too much.  The head-rush slowed, the disorientation faded, and through it all, Jak was keenly aware of that oh-so-intimate touch.  How that warm palm fit against him.  How little it would take for long fingers to wrap around him.  How easy it was to flex his hips and press a little harder into the hand holding him.  He groaned when wet lips began roving over his neck, licking and sucking tenderly at that spot that turned his thoughts fuzzy and his backbone to water.  He sank down a little, glad for the chair’s support, and arched properly into Daxter’s fingers.

The hand held as he moved, letting him find his own rhythm while still providing much needed stimulation.  It wasn’t much, certainly not enough given his confinement and limited range of movement, but it felt amazing and he wanted more.  Fingers curled, took him in a firmer hold without having to be asked, slowly and steadily stroking against the movement of his hips.  Daxter abandoned one spot for another on his neck, nipping a little harder at sweaty skin before laving his tongue over the hurt.  The prick of pain was enough to make everything through Jak’s groin tighten even more, the heat that had been building steadily now demanding an outlet.  He crushed his friend to him with a whine that translated perfectly.  He was stroked harder, faster, until he couldn’t keep up anymore and had to let that hot, slick hand drag him over the edge.

Everything went black as Jak came, snarling like he was going Dark.  For a second, it felt like he did.  Ice, then heat, flashed through his system, followed by that slow swell of something else that opened, yet constricted the world around him.  His senses sharpened, narrowing down to each place he was being touched, the salt, tang and musk in the air, the hard breaths being sucked in by his ear…all brought together in one person.  _Daxter_ —the name brought a rush of possessiveness so complete and consuming that it dazed him…and was then gone, as if it had never been. 

He came back to himself sprawled bonelessly in the chair, warm, content, sticky, and satisfied.  It felt wonderful, to be so at peace…  He nuzzled the head still cushioned on his shoulder.  “Dax?” he breathed into the wonderfully flushed ear that was almost begging to be molested, if he could just coordinate himself enough to reach it.

The body still pressed against his shuddered with an unabashed moan.  Jak immediately shook off his lethargy.  Had he hurt the other in the middle of all that?  “Daxter?  Dax, what’s wrong?”

“Quit movin’,” was the breathless response, accompanied with another shiver.  “Just…sit still, will ya?  I—I’ll move in a minute…”

Move…?  It suddenly occurred to him that his friend’s breathing hadn’t evened out yet, that the body he was still holding was quivering and tense.  Concern overrode everything else and Jak straightened up, intent on demanding a more elaborate answer when the problem made itself known.  The moment he sat up, another needy whine escaped from Daxter, who arched in response to the movement, his still very hard cock rubbing against Jak’s stomach in the process.  Once that little bit of friction was caught, stopping seemed almost impossible for the redhead, though he was definitely giving it his best shot, the stilted rocking of his hips a testament to how badly he wanted. 

The decision was made for him almost before he realized there was a choice to be made.  Jak settled back, lifting the hand still loosely pressed against him and wrapped it around where it was needed.  Using the mess his own release had left behind, he moved their hands over Daxter’s erection, trying to imitate the touch that had brought him to orgasm.  From the sounds of it, he was doing a good job of that.

“Gods, Jak…  _Yes_ …!”  Without any extra prompting, Daxter picked up the pace, rocking hard into their hands.  Unlike the last time he’d been like this, Jak could now see exactly how far and deep that pink tinge he was so enamoured with went.  He could see how sweat caught the little tendrils of hair to Daxter’s cheeks and forehead, chest heaving as he tried to get enough air through parted, bruised lips.  The way his back arched, bringing his whole body into the movement of his hips.  Fingers tightened, eyes and teeth clenched…and then there was a choked cry as something hot pumped over their fingers in response to each throb against their palms.  A gasp and the tension eased.  Daxter buried his face into Jak’s neck, nuzzling absently while his clean hand clumsily found its way around the other side.  A deep, shuddering sigh, and the redhead went limp.

For a while, all Jak could do was stare at the ceiling as they simply existed together.  He was warm and content in a way he barely remembered and would have been more than happy to stay there for the rest of the day if it meant keeping this feeling alive and well.  Daxter had other ideas, apparently.  He mumbled something unintelligible against Jak’s neck, pressing kisses to damp skin as he slowly worked his way up to a full, passionate kiss that was hot, but relaxing rather than arousing. It felt nice after so much pressure and intensity.  Jak hummed in appreciation, following after those soft lips when they tried to pull away.

“Easy, hero-boy,” Daxter said with warm amusement, sitting up with a little sigh.  “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”   The satisfied smile he wore widened a bit, turning mischievous, and the spark in his eyes was bright and beautiful again.  “Was that enough of a push for you?”

A snort was Jak’s response.  “You didn’t have to be so literal about it.”

“Sure I did.  How often do I get to knock _you_ on _yer_ ass?  And look, we finally found a use for the chairs.”

Jak rolled his eyes, but smiled in turn, pulling his madly grinning friend in for another kiss.  Though he had to admit, if this was the way they were going to use the chairs, they might need to start using them more often.

***

_How many nights have I haunted you?_  
 _How many dreams have you cursed me?_  
 _How many nights have I lived off you?_  
 _How many dreams has your heart nourished in me?_

_From my burning love, no demon can save you._  
 _From my burning love, no God or miracle can free you anymore._

_~Brennende Liebe – Oomph!~_

\-------------------------------------------------------------

To be continued.


	6. Isolation (Alter Bridge)

_We’resodead,we’resodead,we’resodead,we’reso **screwed!**_   Daxter chanted in the back of his mind, the mantra doing what all repetitive phrases were supposed to do despite the word choice—keeping him calm enough to make sure he _didn’t_ end up dead.  Why in the name of the seven gods of hell did he keep thinking one of these dumb tasks would be _easy_?  Nothing else they did was easy, safe, or even moderately sane.  Of course a simple pick-up would turn into a cluster-fuck for no apparent reason.  That was just the way they rolled.

He swore and instinctively ducked, something behind him shattering scant moments later.  They just kept coming.  No matter how many Krimzon Guards got blown away, how much blood spilled into the water, or how many corpses accumulated on the uneven boardwalk, it seemed like there was another two transports setting down, pouring out another wave of fresh, faceless drones in red armour.  They came from all directions, pushing a hysterical populace into blind panic.  Over the distinctive crack of gunfire and the sizzling thud of shots embedding, men were yelling, women were screaming, and children were crying.  The environment itself seemed to be disintegrating, the half rotten wood bucking, scrap metal roofs shrieking as they fell, sinking everything into the brackish water below.  The lucky ones were killed in the fall.  The unlucky ones were finished off by the automated gunners some sadistic asshole had let loose in the area to keep people from escaping via the waterways.

He’d lived through a couple of these wild gang-rushes when he’d still been trapped in the industrial sector, had scars on his wrists from where the wire the Guard had been using as restraints had cut into his skin.  The only reason he hadn’t been carted off to his death as slave labour was because a kindly old man had claimed him as an employee for his business.  It’d been the sheer luck that saved his skin that day and he knew it.  No one in Haven’s poorest district was going to find that kind of compassion today.  The only options were to curl into a hole and pray it wasn’t found, or mow right through the tangled free-for-all.

If it had been up to Daxter, they would have made a run for the gate that lead out to the Pumping Station.  He was pretty sure there was a way on the far side to get over to Haven Forest.  If nothing else, they could wait out the imminent destruction in relative safety.  But he didn’t even get to voice the option.  As soon as the transports had started landing, Jak had gone frost giant on him; silent, intimidating, and so very, very cold.  Then the shooting and screaming had started, and something inside Jak just sorta…snapped.  The world seemed to darken around them despite the intense glare of the midday sun.  His lips curled back in a smile that was as much devil-may-care as it was a threatening bearing of teeth.  Dark Eco had crackled around his fingers as he reached for the morphgun, very calmly and deliberately walking into the fray.

What was Daxter to do but follow that bloody hurricane and pray they made it out alive?  Too bad he had so little faith in the power of prayer…

It was hell, dancing through an ever increasing body count, completely at the mercy of bedlam and mass panic.  He was a street rat, damn it!  He could outrun most zoomers, steal almost anything he wanted, hide in plain sight and lie through his notably large teeth, but he was not, nor ever would be, a brawler.  His proficiency was stealth and quick getaways, crawling into places no one else could reach and remembering how to get the hell out again.  Everything in him screamed to get off the ground, but not only was the roof space too widely spread out to offer a reasonable escape, it lacked any sort of cover.  The armaments on the transports would nail him before he got two steps.  He was tempted to try anyway just so he wasn’t being completely useless.

_We’resodead,we’resodead,we’reso—_

His thoughts ended abruptly as he felt something jab into his back right before the sharp, burning pain of electrocution pulsed through his nerves.  Everything locked up as agony took over the world, bright and black and hot.  He fell to the slick causeway hard enough to drive the air from his lungs and he couldn’t find the coordination to take another breath.  Everything in his back was seizing, painfully taunt, slowly echoing out through the rest of his muscles in rapid twitches and spasms.  He could do nothing when a large hand clamped down on his neck, hauling him back upright.

Despite his semi-paralyzed state, he must have made some sort of noise because Jak was turning back toward him.  Time seemed to slow, letting his partially functioning brain process each second with complete clarity.  Jak’s dark eyes raked over the scene, taking it all in at a glance, his stare shifting from being simply hostile to completely enraged.  The smell of hot ozone overrode the heavy, cloying metallic tang of blood in the air.  Dark Eco arced all around his friend, a thousand miniature lightning bolts of radiant purple twisting and twining inches away from his body.   His skin lost all its pigment almost all at once, going beyond pale and even ashen gray until it reached a shade of white Daxter was used to seeing on the edges of storm-tossed waves.  Bloodless lips peeled back further than the normal reckless grin to reveal the incisors that suddenly seemed too large for a mouth to hold properly.  Blond hair bleached to an almost blinding white before parting neatly around the arch of obsidian horn that curled up like a crest over the top of his head.  The morphgun dropped from fingers no longer able to hold it.  The inch long nails were now more like claws, tapered to vicious points of volcanic glass.  Then it was like the light went out of his eyes, wiping out all remaining colour until nothing but the most ominous shade of black was left behind.

Every movement was predatory, controlled, followed by the hiss-pop of eco as it slipped loose from a container over flowing.  The ease and speed with which Dark Jak closed the distance would have been breath taking if Daxter hadn’t already been short on oxygen.  He watched with a certain sense of detachment as those sharp, knife-like nails flashed out in a smooth strike that completely belied the strength and speed behind the action.  They flew by his face, close enough he could feel the air stir, feel the errant sparks of Dark Eco dragging along his skin.  There was a crunching sound, inordinately loud in his ear.  The hand that had been holding him like an errant ottsel fell away.  Something hot and wet splashed against his neck, soaking his back from the shoulder down as the looming presence behind him disappeared as well.  He turned his head just enough to see the hand pull back, crimson and dripping, before collapsing to his knees.

There was yelling he didn’t understand.  Then there was a barrage of red-trailing gun fire.  The Dark Warrior in front of him turned toward the newest threat, an act in and of itself that scattered some of the Guard ranks.  A brief breath of anticipation, then he was in the air, flying toward the opposition courtesy of impossibly strong legs.  He landed fist first into the boardwalk, slightly short of the engagement line; a miss at first glance, but a short lived assumption.  The very world seemed to warp, folding in on itself before giving way to the surge of Dark Eco that followed, rising up like a tidal wave as Dark Jak pushed the chaotic energy into an attack the Oracle had called a Dark Bomb.

For the first time in what felt like hours, Daxter felt his heart beat.  It trip-hammered as the rolling eco storm reached out with greedy hands to anything living, coiling and ripping into enemy and innocent bystander alike.  It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the technique—it was actually one of the preferred methods of dealing with encroaching Metalheads who refused to stay down.  Quick, effective, devastating.  A single violent but relatively quick explosion that usually drew out all the Dark Eco Jak had been harbouring up until that point.  It was an easily recognized technique, the lead up obvious and the initial distortion upon impact enough warning for Daxter to find cover behind a wall or a rock.  But the redhead couldn’t move, couldn’t rise from his knees and scramble behind the dubious shelter of a nearby hut and wait for the cold ripple of terror to pass him by.  It was all he could do to cross his arms in front of himself, bracing as best as he could for the impact of the rogue wave.

Daxter screamed when it reached him.  Or at least, he probably screamed, as much as his sore lungs could possibly manage.  It would have been impossible not to.  Where the first encounter with the black ooze had been somewhat swift, knocked in and spat back out, feeling an achy sting like he’d been out in the sun too long, this was much, much more drawn out.  Each individual flash was felt, leaving a trail of cold, burning pain where it touched his skin.  Every crackle that was absorbed was a knife wound, lancing open the hidden stores of eco his body had kept even after becoming human again.  It became a magnet, like power calling to like power, focusing in and using him as a conduit to increase its range and potency.

And then he heard it, in the small part of his mind that had stepped back from the pain before madness could set in.  A scream.  A whisper.  A voice raw and broken, yet strong and powerful.  One he’d heard many times in those long nights of isolated nightmares…

_Leave me alone!  Stay away!  I won’t let you touch **him**!  I’ll die before I let you close!_

Everything sort of shut down after that.  He didn’t feel himself get lifted by the energy current, nor the nearby wood wall he was thrown into collapsing under his weight.  He didn’t see the sky above him, couldn’t hear the shouting, wasn’t aware of anything other than that voice echoing in his head.  It could have been seconds, minutes, or days before something else finally penetrated that anguished monologue.

_Oh, Jak…_

The world came rushing back, centered entirely upon that one thought.  He still couldn’t feel much as he peeled himself off the ground, but that didn’t stop Daxter from gaining his feet.  He wobbled unsteadily, feeling heavy and exhausted.  There was still some errant KG running around.  They took no notice of him, rushing toward the place he could _feel_ Jak waiting, just out of sight.  His hands shook when his picked up the discarded morphgun, cycling it through to check the ammo.  There wasn’t much of anything left.  It was still slung over his shoulder as he continued forward.  Muscle memory helped him pick his way through the destruction, almost blind to everything else as he followed the rapid fire thoughts. 

When he finally got around to the new battle line, he had almost made it out of the water slums.  The ranks of red suits seemed to have finally gotten smart.  They circled around, always moving, forcing Jak, still in Dark Mode, to shift around constantly to keep tabs on everyone.  A part of him felt like he should be surprised that his friend was still caught in the grip of his power.  The Dark Bomb tended to be an all or nothing attack.  Eco, no matter the type, was always finite in the amount of energy it produced— one of the few things he remembered from Samos’s many lectures.  Dark Jak walked onto the field, Jak walked back off, whatever internal store he’d been keeping completely wiped out.  For the transformation to continue meant that there was still something to fuel it…and from the feeling still bubbling in the back of Daxter’s mind, that supply was more than abundant even after such an attack.

Not all that shocking, really.  It had been weeks since the last time Jak had changed and drained off the eco his body seemed to collect naturally.  There was a vague thought to how much deeper that reserve of power seemed to be and a half memory of the Oracle saying that one day it would consume him.  Daxter shook it off.  Survive now.  Worry about tomorrow when (if) it came.

His next course of was clear; break the circle around his friend.  Firing the morphgun would be the fastest if he could lift it, which he couldn’t right now.  There was always the possibility of propping it up against something to steady his aim, though that presented the Guard with two targets instead of one.  They needed to get out of there before _more_ reinforcements showed up.  No, he needed something flashy, loud and distracting…like that bandolier of eco grenades still strapped to the chest of a nearby body.  There was no way to pull it off without going armpit deep into entrails, however.  Then again, maybe he didn’t need to pull them off at all.  It was an insane idea, but right now, insane was all he had.

Trying not to look too closely at the gory mess that used to be a head, he wrenched two free and pulled the pins on the rest just in case.  “Sorry, pal,” he said under his breath, feeling slightly bad for what he was about to do, “but the greater good an’ all that jazz.”  Then he shoved the body into the water and ran.

There was a bit more lag time than he expected between the splash of something inert hitting the water and the explosion that resulted when those grenades were hit by the weapons on that beast of a machine currently patrolling said water.  Daxter wasn’t going to complain; that explosion was bigger than he had thought it would be, too.  It worked, though.  The circle of KG froze in confusion, most seeming to forget that the greatest threat they’d ever face was already in front of them.   Dark Jak took the moment of inattention to break the ranks.  Daxter threw one of his pilfered grenades opposite of the way his friend moved and dove through the widest gap he could find.  The secondary explosion caused everyone to duck and scatter, sending up a decent sized dust cloud in the process.

He and Jak ran into each other more by dumb luck than by design, with “ran into” meaning Jak barreled straight into him, tackling and taking him to ground with the force of an out of control zoomer.  For the second time that day, the breath was driven from his chest.  His back seized again as the bulk of the morphgun pressing into his spine.  Daxter came perilously close to blacking out when he was suddenly hauled back up to his feet, Jak’s strong arm around his waist the only thing keeping him there.

“Run, idiot,” he gasped.

“ _No!_ ” Jak growled back.  “ _I’ll end this!_ ”

He smacked the other upside the head.  Jak snarled at him.  Daxter snarled back, then promptly tried to get reacquainted with the ground again.

That was the end of the argument.  Jak tightened his grip, the only warning before they were both air borne.  Daxter watched with a mild sense of wonder as they left street level and began climbing up the nearby buildings, leap frogging from one point to another like Jak had been doing it his entire life.  Almost a third of the way from the top, Daxter remembered the other grenade in his possession.  He smiled with grim satisfaction when it detonated right in the middle of the group assembling to try and shoot them down.  Then they were racing over the rooftop.  Half running, half jumping, they crossed over the densely packed buildings.  Jak took the death-defying jumps between sections with ease, his grip never wavering.  For his part, Daxter just hung on, trying to make sure he didn’t trip them up somewhere along the line.  There was little worry though, because soon they were falling back to the streets, landing surprisingly lightly in the quiet alley just a little ways from their safe house.

As soon as the door locked behind them, Jak let go.  Daxter floundered a bit before a heavy hand pushed him back, pinning him to the door while the other slammed into the wood with enough force to make it groan and shudder.

“ _Why_?” 

There were so many other questions wrapped up in that one word, a pain and desperation shining in eyes still blacker than the eco that produced them.  How was it possible for someone designed for absolute destruction to sound so young and lost?  Everything about the Dark Warrior was meant to be intimidating, fear- and awe-inspiring.  The contrasting between alabaster skin and inkpot eyes was startling enough.  The blade-like claws, heavy horns, and sharp fangs that completed the feral aggressiveness were meant to clash headlong with the natural wrongness of the Metalheads.  Everything rippled and strained with power barely suppressed, a living threat that no manner of defense could be erected against.

But beyond those was the person he’d always known.  The guy who had offered a loud-mouth brat an ear and a silent shoulder to lean against.  The friend that had set his jaw and swung his fist against the sand snake that had been bigger than him.  The brother that had apologized every night after their fateful trip to Misty Island and for weeks beyond, even after making good on his promise.  It was still Jak staring at him from beyond the veil of Dark Eco, asking that loaded and dangerous question.

“ _Why_?” he demanded again, claws gouging the wood of the door.

“’Cuz I’m not gonna let you be what they want ya to be.”

The response seemed to surprise Jak.  Daxter took the moment to clasp the hand next to his head, ignoring the reflexive jerk it invoked.  The long nails were still encrusted with blood and the slightest twitch would seriously maim anything close.  Despite that, he nuzzled his cheek into it, holding the palm against his face.  “This is just another weapon, Jak.  Like the morphgun switches through different types of ammo.  Somethin’ that lets you end the trouble others start.  But it’s not _you_.  No matter what they say, yer still the same you ya’ve always been.  An’ I’m not gonna let you forget it just ‘cuz some asshole thinks he knows ya better than me.”  He pressed a kiss to the rough skin.

“… _Dax_ …”

Daxter gave him his best reassuring smile.  “C’mon, big guy.  Think ya can get us to the bathroom ta get cleaned up a bit?”  Jak nodded slowly, carefully wrapping an arm around Daxter’s waist and all but hauled him across the room.  It took some doing, but they eventually shed their blood-soaked clothes, abandoning them and the armour to the floor to be dealt with later.  The redhead dampened a washcloth and gently started wiping away the traces of carnage.  Jak put up with it quietly enough as the gore was carefully cleaned from under blackened nails, flinching slightly when the cloth was run over his face.  It was amazing how cold Jak’s skin felt, smooth and solid like marble.  There wasn’t a scratch on him anywhere despite knowing he’d been shot at least twice.  From there, it was impossible not to see what else had changed and what had stayed the same.

The fall of white hair was silky, light and soft in complete opposition to everything else.  It slipped easily through his fingers, whispering gently was the strands ghosted over his skin.  His hands threaded up and out a few times before getting brave enough to touch the protrusions on the crown.  Jak made a strange noise, something between a groan and a purr as he gently probed the place where bone changed into something more.  The sound escalated to a full-on snarling moan when he lightly traced the surprisingly sensitive horns from root to tip.  It looked sharp and smooth, but it was really lined with tiny ridges along the whole length, and the end was blunt enough he could easily run fingertips back and forth without fear of being cut.  He played for a while, palming, stroking, and tugging lightly to see what kind of sounds he could cause until Jak shook his head and huffed. 

“Yeah, yeah…  Sorry.”  He coughed to cover up a laugh.  It was then that Jak apparently decided they were clean enough and hauled them back to the bed.  Daxter groaned as he slumped over, the thousands of aches adrenaline had helped him ignore earlier suddenly making themselves known.  He tried to sit back up, intent on finding some pain killers when Jak carefully, gently, but pointedly pushed him back down.  They played this game twice before the transformed hero growled threateningly, leaning into the hand keeping the redhead pressed down with just enough force to make struggling useless.

“ _No_ ,” he hissed.  “ _Stay_.”

“’M not goin’ nowhere, ya big lug,” Daxter whined, still trying to pry his friend’s hand up.  “I need to take somethin’ now, or I ain’t gonna be able to move in the mornin’.”

“ _Stay_ ,” Jak repeated, slowly easing up on his hold.  “ _Where is it?_ ” he asked when Daxter remained still.

“I can find it myself if you’d just let me—”

“ _Where?_ ”

That tone told of failing patience.  The redhead rolled his eyes.  “The bag in the far right corner, towards the bottom left in an unlabeled bottle.”

With a look that promised pain if he so much as twitched, Jak moved away to retrieve said item.  It was amusing and fascinating to note the difference between the graceful flow during battle and the lumbering, almost hesitant motions displayed now.  There was an intense look of concentration on his face as he walked to the corner, half shuffling, half bouncing, like his legs had locked up.  That was plainly not the case when he dropped down to a knee to rummage through the specified bag.  Counter intuitively almost, hands that had little problem tearing apart just about everything never once tangled or ripped.  With surgical precision, Jak pulled out the correct bottle without damaging anything else, at ease with the wicked sharp points on each finger like he’d been living with them for years.  He stopped short when he noticed Daxter watching him.  “ _What?_ ”

“Nothin’.  Just…never noticed how well ya use those clam diggers before.  Yer really graceful…” 

Jak’s ears dropped in a self-conscious move, the barest hint of colour taking to his cheeks.  “ _No._ ”

“No?  No what?”  Daxter half sat up and regretted the movement.  Jak was instantly at his side, gently palming his face.  It was kind of weird being the warm one for once, though it was far from unpleasant.  The cool helped ease the raging pain gathering behind his eyes.  He sighed and leaned into the touch.  Once again, he held that larger hand to his cheek when Jak tried to pull away.  “No.  Stay.  Please?”  It sounded petulant to even his own ears, but he couldn’t muster enough self-possession to really care.  He felt like crap, tomorrow was going to suck even worse, and the only thing that was making all that bearable was the fact that his best friend was right there with him.

“ _Dax…_ ”

“I don’t want anythin’ else.  Just company.  Until I fall asleep,” he added when Jak still hesitated.

It took his best forlorn, drowned ottsel look, but Daxter won out in the end.  Jak carefully laid down on the bed next to him and the redhead wasted no time squirming up against his chest, soaking in the radiant cool.  For a while, it seemed like Jak didn’t know what to do, stiff and held back.  The longer Daxter remained motionless, however, the more he began to relax.  One hand pressed against thin shoulder blades while the other rested lightly on a hip.   By now the painkillers had started kicking in along with fatigue.  Daxter nuzzled against Jak’s throat absently, only half aware as he pressed a kiss to a hastily lifted jaw.  Then he wasn’t aware of anything.

***

The room was completely dark when Daxter woke again.  He cast around half-heartedly for what might have awoken him and found nothing.  Minorly annoyed by waking without a solid reason, he wiggled back down into the warm, solid mass in front of him with a contented noise.  Something tightened around his waist in response as a warm pair of lips pressed to the top of his head.  The redhead was suddenly a lot more aware than he had been.

“Jak?” he whispered quietly, tensing.

“Yeah…”  The answer was almost sighed into his hair.  “Sorry.”

“Fer what?”

“…Everything.”  Jak sighed again, shifting like he wanted to pull away and hug Daxter closer at the same time.  “I’m sorry for everything that…happened today.  We should have run.  I didn’t even ask  you, I just...”  The rambling was cut short when Daxter leaned up and rather insistently kissed him.  “Dax—”

“No, don’t even.  Turn on the damn light.  We’re not havin’ another of these conversations with just disembodied voices.”  The bruised muscles in his back didn’t let him do much more than roll over when Jak reached for the lamp.  Squinting against the sudden brightness, he tried to focus on the blond now sitting up and not looking at him.  “Now, what’s really eatin’ yer tail?”

Silence was the immediate answer.  That reproachful scowl was back in Jak’s face, complete with clenched jaw and hands, but his gaze was turned inward.  Every once in a while, his breath would sharpen, or his mouth would twitch like he was going to snarl.  Otherwise the internal debate stayed where it was.  Daxter waited patiently, keeping himself awake by picking at the loose threads of the blanket until he figured his friend had suitably berated himself.

“Jak.”

“You need to stay away from me.”

“Like hell I’ll stay away from you.”

“You don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand, exactly?” Daxter demanded.  “How easy it is to snap my skinny neck?  The kinda damage a well-placed blaster shot can do?  What it feels like to have somethin’ crawlin’ through yer veins, slidin’ through yer insides like some worm in a rotten piece of fruit?”

“How easy it is,” Jak retorted, looking anguished for the admission.  “You don’t understand how easy it is to give in to the bloodlust, how badly I want to hurt them like they hurt me.”  He ran an agitated hand through his hair, eyes suddenly shining.  “Gods, Dax, I want to hurt people just because of the armour they wear, the things they say.  I’m not hurting the people who deserve it, I’m just attacking for the sake of ripping something apart…  What happens when I can’t distinguish one red from another?  What happens when the one thing I’m trying to protect ends up dead in my hands?”

“We worry about that when we get there.”  Jak snorted in exasperation and shook his head.  “Yeah, I know it ain’t a very satisfyin’ answer an’ yeah, sometimes it’s nothin’ more than a truck-ton of yakow shit, but there ain’t anythin’ else we can do right now.”  Firmly ignoring his body’s protests, Daxter sat up.  He actually ended up more or less sprawled against his friend’s side, but he was up high enough to get an arm awkwardly around those slumped shoulders.  “For what it’s worth, there ain’t a single innocent soul left in this burg.  Everyone’s sold themselves for one thing or another.  Their body, their soul, their values…  All that stuff Samos tried to teach us growin’ up doesn’t apply here.”

“That doesn’t make things right.”

“But they ain’t wrong either.  It just is, Jak.  It’s just one big, twisted game of survival of the fittest.  An’ maybe it’s selfish of me to think this way, but if a thousand people stand in the way of me survivin’ the day, then that thousand’s goin’ down.  If slippin’ into the eco’s what’s gonna make sure you come through alive, then I don’t give a damn what caused it or what the price will be in the end.  ‘Cuz yer here, alive an’ whole an’ _right here_ …  I’m sorry, but I just can’t give a flyin’ fuck about anythin’ beyond that.”

They settled into a semi-comfortable silence.  Jak was still tense, though the bleak look on his face was starting to mellow out.  Reality wasn’t pretty.  People died as a direct result of some of the things they did.  There was no way to cover that up or make it something less than what it was.  Anyone who was happy about having blood on their hands was psychotic anyway, so Daxter took some comfort in the stabilizing of guilt.  There’d be plenty of time for regrets after they took out the Baron.

“It doesn’t bother you,” Jak finally asked quietly, “sleeping with a mass murderer?”

“Yer not a murderer.  A guy that cold-blooded wouldn’t be losin’ sleep like this.”  Jak finally met his gaze.  Daxter smiled and kissed him softly.  “Yer a bona-fide hero, buddy, even if yer ridin’ that blackguard line right now.  An’ that means yer one of the good guys.”

“I don’t feel like a good guy.”

“Then just be the guy who does somethin’.  Let the rest of ‘em figure out whose side was what.”

That earned a flicker of a smile.  “‘The guy who does something’?” Jak repeated, a weak laugh bubbling up even as a few stray tears slipped free from his eyes.  When Daxter nodded, the blond pulled him into a strong hug, which was returned as best as was possible.  After a long moment, the remaining tension began to ease out.  “Yeah,” he said, voice rougher than it had been in a while.  “I think I can be a guy who does something.”

Daxter tightened his hold.  “I’d never ask for more of ya.”

***

_When all is lost to you inside,_   
_When all the darkness takes the light_   
_The ritual warning has begun,_   
_And now you tear away from everyone_   
_Disconnected, so alone, severed ties from all you know._   
_Isolation—Brings you to the end, until you love again_   
_Isolation—If you could only see, what will come to be._

_~Isolation – Alter Bridge~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Isolation_ is Daxter's theme for this chapter, since it's from his point of view, but _Monster_ by Skillet is Jak's. Cookies for everyone who gets the joke behind Daxter's opening mantra. Oh, and if you wanna understand Jak "being a guy who does something," go read _Mogworld_ by Yahtzee Croshaw (of Zero Punctuation fame). It is my second all-time favorite book ever and as a gamer geek, you are obligated to read it.


	7. Hold Tight (Goldfish)

The stone doorway closed with a surprisingly soft sound.  The muted thud enhanced the wordless scream from moments earlier, already being swallowed up by the sheer vastness of the chamber they stood in.  All that weight might as well come down directly on top of him; he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, and the whole of the world was locked in ageless rock, if it hadn’t just blatantly ended.

In that small moment of eternity, the world really did end.  He could reach out and touch all the little shattered pieces.  Nothing was ever going to be the same after this and his chest ached with the sense of loss.  Then reality slammed back into drive.

“Great Tree Limbs, he’s gone to face the tests!”

“No.  He’s gone to his death.”

Daxter whirled, ready to beat Kor with verbal (and possibly very physical) fists for even suggesting that Jak wasn’t going to make it.  If it was one thing his friend excelled at, it was getting into and out of sticky situations in one piece.  He’d battled it out on top of a freaking eco silo with the Psycho Siblings using nothing but some well timed jumps and spare eco.  A musty old tomb had nothing on that.  Not when Jak had two years more maturity, strength, and a gun to back him up now.  He’d pass those so-called Trials of Manhood without breaking a sweat, pop that Precursor Stone like a piece of candy, and still make it home in time for an early lunch.

The racking of a rifle cut him off before the first word could be spoken.  No less than fifteen KG stood behind what remained of their merry little band with their guns locked and loaded for a serious take-down.  There was an almost comedic double-take from Samos and Kor, but Daxter was already six steps ahead.  A push here, a zag there and he’d be past the line-up, free as a bird until he hit the lift out.  Of course, there were bound to be more Guards waiting outside at street level, but communicators didn’t work so well underground.  Popping up so soon after initial engagement would definitely be a surprise, one he could use to bolt before anyone was the wiser.  No sooner was the plan formed than it turned to dust by the reflexive squeezing on his fingers.

Widgit.

They’d all be standing together, him, Jak, and the kid, when the Oracle had decided Widgit was too young—which he was, damn it.  Was Samos high or something, trying to send a kid that young into the vast unknown without any sort of prep or back up?  And then he’d screamed at Jak, of all people, to do something when Plan A surprisingly failed.  Oh, they were going to have words after this…but that came later.  Right now it was him and the child heir he was becoming unduly attached to against the rank and file of the city.  The fleeting thought of “ _What would Jak do?”_ crossed his mind.  Turn tall, dark, and gruesome and kick everyone’s ass.  Not an option at the moment.  So, _“What would Jak want him to do?”_

Get the hell out of there.

…And become seven different kinds of an ass for abandoning a kid to save himself.  He’d done that once, thanks-so-much, and sometimes it was still hard not to be sick with guilt.  Jak refused to hear it anymore, always forgive and forget when they had some sort of upset between them, but Daxter was pretty sure he’d try to apologize for the rest of his life.  Jak at least understood what had happened and why it had to be that way, even if it was mostly bullshit.  What could he possibly say to Widgit?  What would make it okay for him to be left behind?  Jak could be a force of nature without the eco; what defense did a six year-old really have?  None.  Samos had been willing to throw him into the abyss without a second thought.  Kor…Kor was starting to creep him out big time.  Jak was rather indisposed at the moment.  That meant Orange Lightning, already faced with two bad strikes against him, was the one to bring it all home. 

It took less than a second for him to reach his decision.  He wasn’t going to run away again.  He wasn’t going to leave someone he cared about behind.  He was going to do what he should have done the first time—protect what mattered to him.

The KG had barely voiced their command to surrender and die before Daxter bolted, Widgit in his arms and escape on his mind.  Everyone seemed stunned at the sudden movement.  He managed to slip by the Guard and almost made it to the lift before they gathered enough wits to start shooting.  There was some confused shouting.  He didn’t care to look back to see what was happening.  It took an excruciatingly long time for the doors to open and close again, and the lift to start ascending.

“Hang on ta me, kiddo,” he said softly, absently stroking a shivering back.  “I’ll keep ya safe, I swear.”  Widgit only curled up tighter against him, face pressed into his neck like he was hiding.  The redhead refused to think about the wetness soaking his collar, or the hammering of his own heart, or the little voice that said he was running away from Jak again, valid reasoning or not.  He stared at the approaching door, trying to concentrate on what his next move should be.  He was pretty much screwed when it came to location.  The Port and both Bazaar sections were antagonizingly close, but still needed a clear shot and a lot of fancy footwork to reach.  He shook his head; just take the first direction available, deal with the choices on the fly, and make the most of every second he could.

The street was _packed_ with Krimzon Guard, or at least close enough for it to count as packed.  Most had formed a living blockade to keep curious by-standers at bay, but there were enough free-standing bodies to make things just shy of impossible.  The realization that they had been set up warred with the knowledge that the longer he stood there, the more likely he faced capture before accomplishing anything.  If he could just make it into the crowd…  There was an authoritative shout and Daxter jumped the line, barreling out into the thick of it.

There was more shouting interspersed with the rapid report of gunfire.  The civilian populace freaked, creating panic and disorder that pushed the Guard into further disarray.  Daxter didn’t really register any of it as he dodged obstacles and jumped bodies, looking for the opening he needed.  With Widgit in his arms, he was overbalanced, unsteady, making it difficult to use his standard evasion tactics.  Still, there was a small measure of hope when he broke into the scattered remains of the crowd.  All he had to do now was keep running…a dream short lived as white hot pain ripped through his leg.  He stumbled, missing what would have probably been a head shot that came immediately after.  Widgit cried out and that was enough to keep the redhead moving, hobbling as fast as he could to a nearby break in the buildings.

There were fewer hiding places the he had expected to find, but all he needed was one.  He pulled out his knife and pried open a ventilation grate.  “C’mon, kid.  In ya go.”  Widgit clung on stubbornly, struggling against the hands trying to pull him off.  “Hey!” Daxter snapped, earning a startled look from big, wet blue eyes.  He choked on the sudden wave of guilt; he thought only Jak had that ability.  He took a breath and started again.  “I don’t got alotta time to argue, so listen up, ‘kay?  I don’t wanna let ya go either, but I promised I’d protect you an’ the best way to do that now is ta draw ‘em off while you hide here.  Rule one is to protect yer own, got it?  No matter what, you don’t break that rule, understand?”  Tears were still overflowing onto reddened cheeks, but Widgit nodded, trying to look brave.  Daxter grabbed him up in a strong hug before helping him into the shaft.  “No matter what happens, you stay here,” he said sternly.  “When it’s safe, me an’ Jak’ll come get ya.  But you gotta stay quiet until then.”

There was an almost inaudible sob as he replaced the grate.  If anything, the boy was crying harder now, curled up in the dark and dubious shelter of the ventilation shaft.  Daxter’s heart clenched hard enough he couldn’t breathe as realization dawned.  The kid was an heir to a usurped throne, left to wander the streets.  How many times had someone told him to stay quiet?  To stay hidden?  That they would come back for him, only to never return?  How many times had someone broken their word to an innocent child in order to protect him?

“Hey,” he said softly, laying a hand over the grate, smiling when he was looked at.  “I swear, ta the Precursors, the Sages, an’ anyone else listenin’; I’m gonna be there when ya need me.  Me an’ Jak, we’re heroes, remember?  We’ll save the day, just wait an’ see.”  The smile he received was watery, but it made him strong enough to walk away without looking back.

…He was screwed, and he knew it.  There was a hole in his leg, making it difficult to stand let alone move around.  Blood had plastered his pant leg to skin and was dripping uncomfortably into his boot.  His only defensive weapon was a knife, which was no match for KG armour.  He was playing a zero sum game.  The most he could hope for was to buy Jak enough time to get the Stone and get out before there was a repeat of two years ago.

_C’mon, buddy.  We need ya out here…_

_Dax?_

The stock of a rifle caught him across the face when he jumped back into the fray.  Daxter turned with the blow, reaching back to grab something so he could swing around.  His fingers locked around a shoulder plate and he pulled, using momentum to turn and face his attacker.  The surprised look was still in place on the grunt’s face as the redhead slammed the knife home through the tiny gap between helmet and body.  His grip shifted as he pulled it free, ducking under another Guard’s awkward grab before punching through the flimsy covering in the armpit area.  A push sent the flailing body back into several more approaching men.  He turned to take on a third when his wounded leg gave out.  He lashed out anyway, aiming for the chink just under the breastplate.  It was a miserable miss, coming in too high and striking full-on into the dense material.  A jarring pain shot up his arm as the blade tip snapped cleanly off.

Pure adrenaline got him back up on his feet, brandishing the broken knife in a wide arc that did nothing to stop the KG advancing against him.  Two Guards down before getting his ass handed to him…better than he’d expected, but still a far cry from what had been needed.  Orange Lightning’s last stand was barely a fizzle.

_Gods, Jak…  I’m sorry…_

_Daxter!_

He flipped the blade and threw it as hard as he could, nailing his target in the face despite everything.  One more goon down and out for the count.  Three was a good number, right?  He didn’t get a chance to feel any sort of satisfaction as the rest of the group closed in.  Something struck his bad leg at the same time something else collided with the back of his head.  The world exploded with pain.  He collapsed with a chocked cry, only to have an armoured boot connect solidly with his ribs.  Once, twice, stealing his breath, then a third kick straight to the face.

“Back off, man!” he heard distantly, finally allowed to slump to the ground.  “The Commander will skin us alive if we kill him before he’s interrogated.”

Daxter felt himself get hauled back up, hissing as his wrists were twisted back and then up between his shoulder blades, locking the joints and making any and all struggling ineffective, not to mention agonizing.  Between the pain in his leg and the throbbing in his head, it was a damn miracle he remembered his own name.  He winced as rough fingers twisted in his hair, leveraging his head back at an uncomfortable angle.

“You’re gonna wish you were dead when Commander Erol gets done with you,” an equally rough voice sneered into his ear.  “And then I’m gonna finish off what’s left.”  His hair was released with a parting, “Fucking rebel scum.”

Before he could think better of it, Daxter opened his mouth.  “Yeah,” he wheezed.  “‘Cuz workin’ for a psycho commander-in-chief an’ his unhinged lackey is soooo much better.”

The hard fist doing its best to turn his internal organs to mush was expected, as was the rush of blood into his mouth, to a lesser extent.  What wasn’t expected was the feeling of something tearing right before everything locked up.  His lungs refused to expand, leaving him with short gasps and all the pain he had felt up until now faded in the panicked wake of not being able to breathe.  He became so focused on that little necessity, he missed being dragged across the plaza, back to where this whole mess started outside Mar’s Tomb.

He was just starting to work past the pain when his head was sharply pulled back again, making him dizzy and nauseous.  “Well, well, well.  What do we have here?  A rat that came crawling out of its hole…”  The obnoxiously condescending voice forced Daxter’s eyes open, glaring with as much hate and loathing as he could muster.  Erol smiled back mildly, seemingly please by the reaction.  “Still got some fight left?  Good.  Struggling makes it more interesting, after all.”

“Get bent, lint licker.”

The insane commander tsked.  “That was terribly unimaginative, Daxter…isn’t it?”  He smiled as the blood drained from Daxter’s face.  “Oh, yes, I know who you are.  The rat in the walls who came and stole away my chance to rectify a very serious mistake.  The shadow always pressed to Jak’s back.  He’s here, somewhere, isn’t he?’

“Damn straight,” Daxter sneered, fighting to sound as sure of himself as possible.  “An’ when he gets done tearin’ all you bastards apart, there ain’t gonna be enough pieces left over to go fishin’ with.”

That made Erol smile even more sadistically.  “Not this time.  You see, there isn’t a person in this city that _didn’t_ see that lovely little light show that destroyed the Baron’s statue.  You practically invited us here.  And even if that hadn’t been enough, when we heard that brat you’ve been protecting and the head of your little club was going to be here, how could we refuse?  All our enemies and problems cleanly and conveniently buried where they belong, in a forgotten grave.”

The ground under their feet suddenly trembled, like something had been blown up.  Daxter shot a panicked look toward the tomb’s entrance.  Erol chuckled.  “So that’s where he is.  Too bad, really.  I had so looked forward to being the last thing that freak saw.”

“The only freak I see is—”

He didn’t get to finish.  Erol turned and suddenly, his hand was squeezing closed around Daxter’s throat.  “Don’t you get it?” he hissed.  “It’s _over!_   For you.  For the Underground.  For Jak.  Even if by some miracle he survived whatever defenses were down there, he can’t win against the Baron.  Only one person will be coming back to the surface with the Precursor Stone and I’ll make _damn_ sure Jak’s corpse is the first one broken—”

Erol cut off abruptly when Daxter spat in his face.  It wasn’t a very good shot and honestly, not a very smart move, but it had shut the asshole up.  It wasn’t like he could out shout the man with a hand wrapped around his neck, dangerously close to crushing his windpipe.  He smiled, bloody spittle still on his lips, cold and arrogant against the rising rage in Erol’s eyes.  He could almost see the psychotic break waiting to happen.

“What the hell’s going on here?!” a voice snapped before Erol could.  As quickly as the madness had come, the Commander was once more in complete control.  He straightened up sharply, obviously ready to shred whoever dared to interrupt him when everyone noticed it was Ashelin questioning him.  The female Commander shifted her weight to one hip and planted her hand there, face filled with a haughty, patronizing look that had probably taken hours in a mirror to perfect.  “Well?” she demanded.

“The prisoner was resisting arrest.”  A lame lie and everyone knew it.  It was still a step above admitting to being a playground bully.

Ashelin eyed the whole group.  “Yes.  Clearly, he’s a Class A threat, what with his hands tied up and a wounded leg.  He most definitely needs six grown men to wrestle him into submission.  Get him into a transport and get back into formation,” she snarled.

“With all due respect,” Erol was obviously straining to keep his tone civil, “this is my operation.”

“And a fine job you’ve done fucking it up.  Mass panic and civilian casualties in what should have been a straight-up escort mission.  Get your men in line, or I’ll court martial them all.”

Erol twitched.  For a minute, it looked like that madness would boil over again.  Instead, he thumped a hand to his chest and gave her a slight bow.  “As you wish, _Lady Praxis_.”  The two exchanged another hate-filled stare, then Ashelin walked away.  Erol made a curt gesture with his hand and Daxter found himself hauled none-too-gently away.   

They had just (literally) thrown him into one of the nearby transports when the periodic rumblings that had been taken place under the street became one long, monstrous roar, a sound like the world was trying to tear itself apart.  Fissures appeared in the streets while pieces of the stone structure housing the tomb’s entrance began to crumble.  With a loud crack, the ceiling fell in as something shot through, sending up a large dust cloud.  Daxter pushed himself upright, pressing against the bars, holding his breath.

_C’mon, Jak!  Ain’t nothin’ out there tougher then you.  C’mon, buddy…._

…

There was an odd light in the dust, steadily getting brighter as the air cleared.  Bleeding, dirty, but still there—Baron Praxis immerged, something large and glowing in his hands which he raised triumphantly over his head.  The Guard immediately started cheering.  The loud cacophony drowned out a single scream Daxter only realized later had come from him.

_“He’s gone to his death.”_

_“Only one person will come back with the Precursor Stone.”_

He purposefully jarred his leg, using the pain to chase the unwanted voices from his head.  There was no way, _no way_ , Jak was…  He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut.  No!  He wasn’t going to think like that!  Despite it taking two years, Jak hadn’t given up on him.  He wasn’t going to give up on Jak, either!  Jak was gonna crawl out, see what an awful mess he’d made of everything, smack him upside the head, scowl to hide a smile, and help him clean it all up again.  Jak would find him.  He would.  He would…wouldn’t he?  This wasn’t how this was supposed to end…

Kor and Erol’s voices came back, and this time, pain didn’t make them go away.  Daxter tried anyway, kept trying to inflict enough hurt to keep them at bay.  Because enduring physical pain was better than admitting he’d finally lost everything.

***

Thrity-two steps, left.  Forty-one more, right.  Thirteen steps from there to the lift.  Up to the fifth floor.  Left.  Second corridor and left again.  Three doors down on the right…or was it supposed to be the third corridor and then two doors down?

Jak swore under his breath, trying to remember which it was supposed to be.  Torn had tried to give him a map, but it would have been useless to someone who couldn’t read it.  He probably should have taken the damn thing anyway.  _And what?_ he snarled to himself.  _Asked the kindly-looking Guard on the corner how to get to the cell block where they kept the high profile inmates?  Get a grip._

Second corridor, left.  He counted out three doors and kicked the appropriate one in.  Broom closet.  Not where he wanted to be.  He cursed again and started backtracking.  He was so damned lost, it wasn’t even funny. 

He’d known something had gone wrong the moment he laid eyes on the Baron while still in Mar’s Tomb.  A suspicion that had only been confirmed when he’d finally managed to free himself from the wreckage and found himself alone for the first time in months.  Some searching and a near break later, he’d finally decided to head back to the Underground’s base to see if anyone knew what had happened.  Except without Daxter there, he’d gotten lost twice trying to find his way back.  Didn’t matter that he and Dax had been crawling through the city every which way for their missions since joining, he still got lost.  The redhead was the one who led, the one who always knew the fastest way in and out of trouble…the one who’d finally started drawing maps for the other members because they were more detailed than Torn’s.  Without Daxter to point out the proper landmarks, everything looked the same to Jak.  He just didn’t have the memory for the maze.

As was painfully obvious right now.  Even with Torn’s instructions, he almost couldn’t find his way through the Fortress, backtracking almost as much as he managed to move forward.  Third corridor, second door; this one came completely off its hinges. It was a monitoring office of some sort, complete with computer bank along the back wall.  Jackpot.  He walked in, fumbling the device Vin had given him out of his hip pocket.  “Center panel,” he repeated softly.  “Below the monitor, but above the keyboard.  Square button between two lights.”  He pressed it and held his breath as the contraption started making noise, lights blinking on, then off again.  Once he was fairly confident it wasn’t going to explode, he found where the device was supposed to plug in.  Then he counted to twenty.

“Vin?” he asked quietly.

“I read you,” the engineer responded, voice equally quiet and interspersed with static.  “You did great, Jak.  You’re right on schedule.”

It didn’t feel like it.  “Where are they?”

“I’m checking recent lock-ups.  It’ll take a minute.”

Jak fought back the urge to snap that he didn’t have a minute.  They’d already wasted enough time!  He settled for rubbing a hand over his eyes, trying to focus on that little voice in the back of his mind that sounded like Daxter.  Initially, he’d passed if off as a trick two years of near constant solitude had played on him, a coping method to keep from going truly insane.  Now, he wasn’t so sure it wasn’t just madness.  Twice while he was working through the Trials, he had clearly heard his friend’s voice, the first time telling him to hurry and then an apology.  And then there was the scream when the tomb started collapsing in on itself thanks to the bombs Praxis had been throwing around.  It still came in waves, sometimes strong while barely there at other times, an almost feverish mantra of denial and dying hope.  It was the only thing that had kept him from seriously hurting Torn earlier.

 “G-got it!” Vin said, snapping him back to the present.  “Out the door and to the left.  Take the first right and follow the hall all the way to the end.  I’ll hack the lift to take you up.  Take another right off the lift and follow the left wall until you find a ventilation shaft.  Just go straight through it.  It’ll dump you out in Cell Block G.  I should have all the doors open by the time you get there, and then I’ll get the Warp Gate functioning.  The Shadow will be able to lead everyone there.”

“Does it say who exactly was captured?”

“…No.  There’s a total of ten occupied cells with two marked as high risk.  One’s gotta be the Shadow, but I don’t know who’d be in the second.  All the activation time marks are the same, so it has to be one of ours.”

“You sure it’s them?”

There was a nervous chuckle.  “Surer than I’ve been about anything in a long while.  I won’t waste your time with the stats.”

Jak found himself smiling.  “You’re the greatest, Vin.”

“Y-yeah…  Say that _after_ you get everyone out.  There’s still a lot of room for things to go wrong.”

After double checking his new directions, Jak was on the move again, feet thumping in time with his heart.  The hallway to the lift seemed endless as he jogged along, bypassing more and more doors and offshoots filled with the same.  How did anyone ever know where they were and where they were supposed to be going?  The lifted opened on cue and soon, he was stepping out into another level of uniform hell.  This circle he knew, though, growling softly at the lingering smell of eco and death.  It wasn’t exactly the like the place he’d been held, but it had served a similar purpose.

_“He could be dead already,” the ex-Commander said tonelessly as he checked his weapons.  “They could all be dead.”_

_“He’s in there, waiting for me.”_

_“And if he’s not?”_

Then he was going to show this hell exactly what kind of demon it had raised…

The ventilation shaft was thankfully one that was large enough for him to crawl through and mercifully short.  He punched out the opposite grate before sliding to the floor, instantly aware of the sharp, metallic smell clinging to the stale air.  He started at the uniformly spaced steel doors that lined the room, trying not to twitch.  “Vin…”

“I’m working on it!”

_—went through this?—I can’t—not strong—Jak—_

His attention snapped to one door, hands already pushing at the resistant metal.  “Open this door.  G7-82.”

“But-but…that’s the one we don’t—”

“Do it, Vin.  Now!”

Vin did not argue.  A few breath-stealing moments passed before the lock clicked open.  The hydraulics hissed as the door was pried open faster than it was designed to go.  The smell of blood and onset infection hit him like a sucker punch to the gut.  Either the light had burned out or it had been purposefully shut off, leaving the entirety of the cell dark save for where it now spilled in around Jak from the doorway.  Despite the poor lighting, he instantly recognized the limp form on the concrete floor.

“Daxter!”  Everything else was forgotten, including his anger, as he rushed to his friend’s frighteningly still side.  Jak was afraid to touch, afraid to further damage something already so broken…afraid to know he really was too late…  Then Daxter coughed; a horrible, wet sound that made Jak so happy he almost cried.  He brushed tangled red hair back, trying to get a look at his eyes.  “Dax, come on.  Talk to me.”

Glassy eyes fluttered open, but didn’t stay that way long.  A cracked smile lit up the bruised and swollen face.  “This…   This really is hell…ain’t it?”

“You have no idea.”  The blond finally got brave and started checking injuries.  There was no way to tell which was worse, his face or the gory mess of his leg.  Blood had matted his hair, his clothes were torn and dirty, and his breath was dangerously shallow and feathery.  “Hey!  Stay with me, keep talking.”

“Pushy bastard…”  He hissed, then groaned in painful relief as Jak broke the cuffs keeping his hands tied up between his shoulders.  His arms were gently stretched back out amid many half stifled whimpers.  “Dead gods, I didn’t think that could hurt anymore…”

“Can you stand?” Jak asked, already trying to ease the other up.  It would have been easy to just scoop the redhead into his arms, but that would leave them both defenseless.  Recoil alone made firing the morphgun single-handedly useless, but it was better than nothing.  “Come on, we’re getting out of here.”  He pulled a thin arm around his neck and hauled his friend up as gently as he could.  Daxter ragdolled against him, that wet cough making a second, worrying appearance.  Then slowly, carefully, he was pushed back into.  Daxter got his good leg steadied under him while Jak got a good grip in his belt, trying to take even more of the fragile weight.

In the end, it was really more like dragging the redhead than actually helping him walk.  It wasn’t until they had entered the main room and the other doors started opening that Jak even remembered why he was there.  One by one, other members that had been picked up crept out of their confinement.  The only one Jak recognized was Tess, though he’d probably met the others at some point.  Everyone was scuffed and ruffled, but Daxter had most definitely taken the worst of it.  There was some frustrated murmuring from Vin before the final two doors opened, revealing not on, but two Samos-es.  Many of the people around them echoed Daxter’s sentiment of, “Shit.  Now there’s two of ‘em.”

The run to the Warp Gate was more of a trial than it should have been.  Not because of any trouble with the Guard.  No, that might have been a relief because Samos kept arguing with himself about what action should be taken next.  Vin got the Gate connected just in time to make sure both of them went through it and not the wall behind it, which was where they were obviously headed if the group had decided to act on the impulse.  Jak waited until everyone else had gone, then let Tess help him get Daxter through.

Torn was running triage from the Power Station, taking in the endless noise and making sense and order from it all.  This had to have been what it was like when the man had still been a part of the KG.  Despite his recent fallen status and questionable loyalty, he commanded with a strength and clarity that left no one arguing.  In that moment, he was in his element and not even the random appearance of two Shadows was enough to throw him off.  It was interesting to note that of all the order he gave, none were directed to Jak.  He gave a slight nod when their eyes met and then purposefully drew everyone away so that Vin could run in with his medical supplies.

Almost as soon as he started, the engineer began muttering under his breath, hand that fluttered so nervously over keyboards so still on Daxter’s chest.  “This is bad.  So cold, too pale…  This is so very bad…”

Jak didn’t like that tone.  “Vin…”

“I…  I don’t have any eco…”  The blond just stared.  No one had eco, except the Guard, and even that was rare these days.  But there was always a secondary way to tend injuries...  “Jak…”  The way Vin said his name, soft and so apologetic, made the room spin.  “He’s bleeding internally.  I can’t do anything.”

“But I can.”  He looked up from a rapidly darkening room to see Samos, his Samos, the one who was Sandover’s Green Eco Sage, kneeling next to them.  One gnarled hand replaced the one Vin had pressed to pale skin.  “Vin, there’s others you can help more.  Go treat them.”  Vin nodded and hesitantly withdrew.

“He can’t—” Jak started.

“He is,” Samos replied evenly.  “I can feel things shifting as he breathes—his ribs are broken and there’s a steady build-up of pressure against his diaphragm.  The only place he’s bleeding out from is his leg, so the rest of it must be internal.  He’s just lucky it’s a slow enough leak he hasn’t exsanguinated yet or drowned.”  He let out a frustrated sigh, turning.  “For the last time, get your knotted stumps over here and help me,” he snarled.

For a moment, everyone was confused as to whom he was speaking, until the Shadow-Samos scowled back.  “I’m a bit busy here!”

“Torn’s perfectly capable of handling it and I need your connection with Haven Forest to channel.  Help me save the boy who probably saved your life.”

“I don’t know how to heal.”

“Lucky for both of us then that I do.  Now stop being a lump on a log and prove you’re worth the power you wield.”

Amid much glaring from the remaining members of the Underground and a certain annoyed continence, Shadow-Samos shuffled over and did as he was told.  The two grumbled back and forth as the tell-tale green glow slowly began to suffuse the air.  At first, it seemed like nothing was happening.  Then it slowly began sliding into the still form.  Weak breaths strengthened.  Colour flushed white skin.  The hand Jak had refused to let go of twitched, then constricted tightly.  A confused tumble of thoughts and images slammed into the blond hard enough to make him dizzy, but it was all gone by the time he reached out to grab at one. 

“It’s okay, Jak.  Breathe, my boy.  Relax and ride with it, not against it.”

He blinked as the pressure eased.  “What the hell…?”

Sandover-Samos looked older, more tired than he had in ages.  “Don’t worry about it right now.  The important thing is that you and he are both safe and alive.”  The Sage patted his shoulder.  “He’ll need another treatment to make sure there’s no lasting damage, and one more for his leg, but otherwise rest is the best medicine for both of you.  Find it while you can.  We can talk later.”

***

\-------------------------------------------------------------

To be continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are lyrics within this song, but they were not the reason it was chosen, so there are no lyrics to post. Also, I need to find another reason to spit in Erol's face at some point.


	8. Make a Move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the large sections in italics are designated points in the past. You're flipping back and forth between two separate scenes that have been combined into a single one (since that was the only way it decided to work out).

_Daxter grabbed him, crushing their mouths together.  The staggering rush of need that poured out kept Jak from arguing, though he caught clumsy hands before they could wander too far.  There was slight whine, the gesture taken as refusal instead of the means to slow things down.  Jak growled and pushed back, making his point silently, but clearly.  The redhead relaxed slightly.  The need was reigned in, somewhat controlled, ever ready to slip free the moment the opposition lessened even the slightest.  Jak didn’t intent to give it the opportunity._

Jak shifted so that he could start combing his fingers through limp red hair without disturbing his friend’s sleep.  Neither of them had slept well since their second escape from the Fortress.  For a while, half-waking nightmares had been the best they could manage.  The first time he’d truly awoken, Daxter had been in a blind panic.  It had taken a while to calm him back into a coherent state, and then Samos had riled him up again with questions about Widgit.  Only there was no one there when Underground agents arrived, gone just as mysteriously as the kid had arrived. 

_Hard and fast.  The scrabbling of fingers and the bruising force of teeth.  Their clothes were already a mess, so tearing and clawing them apart to get to the body underneath wasn’t much of a concern.  The room was cold, freezing against overheated skin,  The air smelled stale and dusty under the more immediate scents of sweat, blood, and that sour note of infection that still lingered despite the layers of salve and bandages.  Daxter tasted coppery, a constant reminder that they shouldn’t be doing this.  However, the need was stronger than the hesitation, so long as it remained only a taste._

Added to the weight of two broken promises was the fact that they had lost everything all over again.  It was impossible to know exactly how much Torn’s moment had really cost, so rather than trying to save a sinking ship, it was abandoned.  The entire internal structure of the rebellion had shifted within a matter of hours, and its many agents had been moved by morning, tucked in new safe houses, armed with new communicators with a brave few willing to help pull off the charade that nothing had changed.  Tess was sent back to the Hip Hog, safe because of Krew’s connections.  Shadow-Samos made himself a target by staying at the old headquarters while Torn effectively erased himself from existence. 

_He picked his friend up, using the motion to both take pressure off the wounded leg as well as check the ugly injury for more bleeding.  The body was still fragile—he needed to be careful, keep his strength in check so that he didn’t crush what he was trying to protect.  Daxter’s arms locked around his neck and wrapped his other leg around Jak’s waist, clinging through sheer stubborn tenacity rather than any sort of skill.  There was some stumbling through the unfamiliar room before the controlled fall to the bed._

Everyone had pretty much left everything behind.  For two people just starting to get comfortable with their lives again, it was a devastating blow to take.

_No more excuses.  No more stalling.  There was still some reservation, but there was no stopping.  The need was sharper now, digging at him, pushing for an answer, justification, acknowledgement and acceptance.  Daxter trembled beneath him, inciting both the want to attack as well as defend.  They were disheveled, surprisingly hard and as unclothed as they were going to get for this.  It seemed wrong somehow until the other arched up against him with a whimper.  “Jak, please.”_

And now this eco connection thing…  Was that why Dax always knew what he was going to say as a child?  How he always knew what it was that Jak needed to hear just when he needed to hear it?  And if that was true, could he use it to his advantage now, to say the things his friend needed to hear?  Because despite his claims to the contrary, he could feel that Daxter was only playing at being fine.  He was quiet, pensive, and lacked the spark that turned his natural sarcasm into wit rather than snark.

_They moved roughly against each other, panting hotly across slick skin, into flushed ears, holding one another like they would somehow disappear if their grips slackened.  Jak held himself carefully above his partner, becoming a living wall between the outside world and this moment between them.  One arm curled up under Daxter’s head and neck to hold him close while the other hand stretched down.  His knees pushed the redhead’s apart at the same time he wrapped his hand around both their erections, pumping erratically counter to their jerking movements._

Daxter shifted with a small noise, causing Jak to freeze.  That hadn’t sounded like a bad noise, but it hadn’t been a good noise either.  Still, he slept on, so it hadn’t been anything critical.  That didn’t stop Jak from curling up a little closer, attention a little sharper now.  There was so little else he could do anyway, no reassurance he could voice or action he could take that would bring back the confidence that had shattered in his friend.  All he had was symptom management and the memory of another time and place when that over-abundant self-assurance had also gone down in flames.  This time, the world could go to hell if it meant Daxter would look at him with that cocky smile again and mean it.

_Coming did more than let tense muscles relax.  Gasps for breath became breathless sobs.  Trembles of pleasure turned into the shaking of distress.  With nothing else to keep it in check, the hot, bitter pain no amount of green eco could cure bubbled to the surface.  Daxter cried, longer and harder than the night that had started them down this path.  The emotional poison was slow to bleed off and Jak was loath to press, but he needed to hear it as much as the redhead needed to speak it..  In the end, all he could do was hold his friend, whispering what reassurances he could against the rising flood of self-doubt until exhaustion finally let some peace be found in sleep._

They needed to get up soon—the sewers called once again.  Whatever Krew was up to nowadays had given him a short attention span and a case of decidedly creepy mumblings and chuckles.  He would have put it off as Krew being the more-than-slightly unhinged person he was normally if it wasn’t for Sig.  The Wastelander had wanted to warn them about something.  He wasn’t the type of man to go looking regretful and that was more than enough to make Jak sit up and take notice.  But the chance seemed to have slipped away.  Now it was all curt shakes of the head, grumbled oaths, and looks that had nothing to do with seeing what was in front of him.  Even though he didn’t have Daxter’s ability to interpret body language, Jak knew whatever was wrong was something serious and close at hand.

_“For lack of a better term, it’s called an eco-connection.  Sometimes, high end channelers can forge a bond through the eco both in them as well as around them.  If we were in close enough proximity, we Sages could create such a thing and share, first hand, experiences and discoveries.  Gol was the only one who never participated in such a way.  To my shame, I never pushed.  A lot of tragedy might have been averted if I had.  But I was afraid…”_

The Sage had said a lot of things during the long hours of treatment (spread out over a very long week), slowly and methodically mending muscle, nerve and artery.  There was still a ghostly cast of fingers around his throat, a partial black eye that refused to fade, and an ugly red scar on his leg that would probably never fade, but Daxter was back to full physical health.

_“Are you afraid of me?”_

_“No, Jak.  I’m afraid_ **for** _you.  There’s still so much hardship to come…  I just hope this time, it turns out for the better…”_

He wanted to ignore those words, forget them, overrule them.  He wanted to ask how it could possibly get worse than this, but realized that knowing that answer was part of what made Samos so old to begin with.  All Jak had was the hope that even if it did get worse from here on out, they could make it through together in more than less one piece.  And there was a lingering fear that even that was too much to hope for.

***

_Left button turbo, right button jump.  Left, turbo.  Right, jump.  Left.  Right.  Jump.  Turbo._   Daxter closed his eyes, trying to make the hover bike controls feel natural in his hands.  This was the clutch, this was the accelerator.  This was for a turbo boost, that button was for a jump, and this other button was…  He blinked his eyes open, staring down at the extra button, trying to remember its function.  Had it even been there a moment ago?  Swearing softly, he looked back to the instructions Keira had given him.

He sighed, half convinced it was a lost cause.  For as simplistic as it seemed, the thrice-cursed contraption was a nightmare to operate.  It was nothing like a normal zoomer’s configuration and instead of being able to take his time to learn the controls, he had only until the race started to get comfortable.  No messing around, no time for trial and error—he got one chance to get it and get it right.

Considering his current track record, they were doomed.

It shouldn’t have been him.  Jak was the one who loved break-neck speeds and near-death experiences.  He might have been have been good at the wheel for a fast escape or desperate getaway, but those things were necessities in life.  This, while also serving a need, was considered _fun_ , least of all by his friend.  But Jak had been riding a mood ever since their little escort through the sewers with the bomb expert who puffed more hot air and smoke than Daxter did.  The destruction of Mar’s statue pissed him off too, more for the means than anything.  Jak, however…two days and he was still spitting mad.  And then Keira just had to go and prick that particular sore spot about Krew.

All things considered, the blond had shown a considerable amount of restraint by simply walking away.  The timing just couldn’t have been worse.  He’d assured Keira he could handle the race with a bravado he didn’t feel.  There wasn’t anyone else who could.  They either made this, or their fast-track for the Baron crashed and burned with his fiery corpse.  That, oddly enough, was a comforting thought.  If he managed to fuck this up, he wouldn’t be around to deal with the consequences.

As the call for drivers to take their marks sounded, Daxter reached back, following that little thing that left him connected with Jak…and was firmly rebuffed by a solid wall of anger for his effort.  Nope—still pissed and unwilling to talk.  His last chance of getting out before he screwed something else up was now firmly denied.  He took a deep breath and tried to hope, but it was with resignation that he clamoured onto the hover bike and headed out to the track.  If Keira or Samos had any parting shots of wisdom, they were lost to the roar of the crowd.

Nerves got the better of him when the green light flashed and he stalled out on the starting line.  Some swearing and a swift kicks to the machine’s guts got him going, though he was now woefully behind everyone now.  Amazingly enough, it worked out to his advantage.  With the rest of the pack scrambling for position right out the gate, they had crammed around the first curve, leaving the turbo engager on the far outside completely untapped.  Even as panicked and harried as he felt from his late start, a part of him snickered at the stroke of luck.  _Don’t mind if I help myself, do ya?_ , he thought, a bit giddy as the turbo indicator turned on.

Staring at a map of a track and actually being on the thing those squiggly lines represented were two vastly different experiences.  He’d memorized it, each and every curve, trying to find its weakness and ways to exploit it.  They needed every advantage they could get, considering the odds against them.  But actually going up and down, trying to muscle the beast under him so that he could turn without riding up the track edge while maintaining speed was a logistical nightmare.  But each jerk and stutter he went through brought him a little closer to control while letting him really see the track.  There were five laps total.  He could afford to take a little time the first time through to get his marks and comfort level up.  Hopefully.

Hard right, up, down into the enclosed part of the track and a soft right, and then a hard left.  It went by in a barely noticed blur.  He could see where the track started to buckle in on itself, twisting back and forth like a sand snake.  That first turn would have been a great place to jump instead of following that left all the way around.  But he followed the wall instead, trying to maneuver into the second turn.  This was where he’d make his jump, cutting out the largest loop of track and taking a straight shot at the next section.  It was a big chance, a bigger pay off if he didn’t end up splattered on the other wall.  Two turbos on the gauge and nothing else to lose, Daxter gunned the engine, not giving himself time to talk himself out of the move. 

The bike jumped, the turbo boost at the height of which helping him clear the gap with a good bit of extra to pad the distance.  The hard thump against the flooring almost threw him over the handle bars, but he found his seat quickly.  Up and up and out, hauling hard to the right again to stay out of the gutters.  Another turbo got him peeling through the next turn.  His first lap finished with him riding even with the back of the line.

Adrenaline started to pick up.  He went to the outside again to avoid the crunch at the corner, tripping the same turbo sensor he had the first time before leaning into the gas.  Up, down, grabbing another turbo before sliding into the next turn and watching some poor schmuck misjudge his timing and plow headfirst into a pylon.  He threw his less than considerable weight into his turn to get lined up for his jump, snarling as another racer cut him off.  His jump was a little more hectic this time, his cushion space drastically cut and the landing a bit rougher.  But he’d catapulted himself past most of the group as he raced out of the enclosed section.  By the time he hit the line, the official ranking was third place.

Or maybe that was the lap number.  Daxter didn’t pay that much attention as he flew into the curve, wincing as he bounced off the side.  The controls felt better in his hands now that he wasn’t trying to think about them all the time.  There were a lot of things he wasn’t giving himself time to think about, like his speed, or his ranking in the race, or how close death and dismemberment was looming.  All that mattered was making that next turn, making sure to pick up a turbo regularly, and not crashing stupidly into anything along the way.  His heart was hammering away in his chest so loud he couldn’t hear anything else and his jaw ached as he clenched it in concentration.  A flawlessly clean jump.  An unconscious yell of exaltation.  Another lap completed.

He forgot about the other racers.  He forgot about the crowd.  He stopped sucking in breaths and something inside him stilled in response.  He was blind and deaf to just about everything that wasn’t about the track and the next thing he needed to do.  It was just about the right now, and right now, he was flying.  His stomach still clenched when sweaty fingers slipped on the controls, adding a wobble to his death-defying leap over oblivion and sparks followed his landing.  He powered on as the bike jerked in his hand unsteadily.  And hey, look at that—that extra button was the brake, which suddenly made those hard turns easier to navigate.  Wouldn’t that have been nice to know earlier?

There was an ominous groan as he pulled through his next turn.  The bike refused to straighten back out, weaving erratically despite Daxter’s attempts to control it.  Trying to compensate for the damaged steering was a lost cause as he dropped hard into the enclosed section.  It was slow to pick speed back up, throwing his timing off.  He jumped too soon, barely scraping over the opposite edge, and his alignment was off, sending him crashing hard into the wall.  He shoved off, barely feeling the throb of pain that accompanied the movement.  One of the stabilizers had broken free, adding an even more pronounced wobble.  Daxter kicked it clear from the bike, then stood in the stirrups, leaning forward over the handlebars, using his weight to compensate.  Insanely dangerous with his foot now completely supported by the gas pedal, but what was really safe about any of this anyway?  Another turbo to blast through the Precursor-damned gutters, and then another to help make up the lost time and speed.  He was going to make it over that damn checkered line come hell or high water and anyone in his way was going to be slag if they—

Wait a minute.  Checkered?  That meant something important—

The sudden buzzer as he shot over the line warred with the volume of the mob, which sounded like it was in the beginning stages of a riot.  It startled him so much that for a moment, he forgot what he was doing, nearly slamming into a wall again.  The screech of metal was almost lost under the excess noise until he peeled the bike away from the edge.  That’s when it finally hit him, the cheering, the line, the absence of engines bearing down on him—he’d finished.  The race was over.  Had that really been five laps already?  He couldn’t remember…  Then the more immediate issue gripped him and he wrenched his back trying to get a look at the leader board.

Eighth, sixth, fourth…his heart sank a little even as his breath caught.  Third, second, and then, unbelievably, first.  Orange Lightning—Team Hagai.

Unbridled euphoria ripped through his system like the lightning he’d been named after.  He yelled and whooped with the crowd, fist pumping through the air as his exuberance was reflected back from everyone living vicariously through him in that moment.  He’d won!  Honestly, truly, undeniably won!  A grin split his face and another round of crowing shouts filled the air before he could find another way to let some of the pressure go.  It was like drowning, soaring, and that perfect spot of sunshine all mixed into one, being so achingly overjoyed, relieved, and too many other things to identify.  It pumped through his veins so hard there was a vague concern about something literally bursting, but honestly he could have cared less about any of it.  Even his residual anger at Keira and consistent tension between him and Samos stood no chance against this.  He hugged them both as soon as they were within arm’s reach.

Tess surprised them in the garage, just as hyperactive and gushing as Daxter felt.  With someone who could keep up with him to take in the tide of words ready to spill from his mouth, the redhead barely noted the odd little tug in his chest right before Jak walked in.  The jovial feeling was lost in a heartbeat.  The friendly flirting with Tess was instantly dropped, completely forgotten.  His friend didn’t seem two steps away from murdering someone anymore, but he couldn’t really read Jak’s expression either.  He suddenly became aware of Keira at his back and decided to intercept the blond before the two were in sniping distance again.  Still nothing from his friend on the internal communication network.  His smile wobbled worse than the hover bike had and he winced when his voice cracked.  All Daxter could think was that he’d managed to screw something else up.  How, he wasn’t sure, but that had never stopped someone from blistering his ears before.  It didn’t help that Jak’s first words were criticisms about his driving skills.  He lowered his eyes and braced for the inevitable tongue lashing habituation told him would come next when he heard the four words he’d spent his whole life waiting to hear.

_I’m proud of you, Dax._

His eyes went wide, jerking his gaze and his ears up even as he automatically returned the fist bump.  He could only stare dumbly as Jak smiled at him, that soft little half smile that had once belonged to a boy much more innocent.  There was a mental/emotional reaffirmation, _I’m proud of you_ , behind the next set of words.  The rapidly waning glow from his earlier accomplishment roared back into a full-on inferno, fueling his own response, which in turn lit something up in his friend. 

The good-byes were stilted, but short.  Tess smiled and made a shoo-ing motion.  Keira turned her back.  Jak glared at the mechanic girl briefly before grabbing his hand and pointedly walking away.

No sooner had they turned the corner, leaving the direct line of sight from the garage, than Daxter found himself shoved against a wall, being kissed like Jak was trying to physically mesh them together.  The moment his startlement eased and he began kissing back, the emotional seal between them broke and all the things that had been kept back flooded out.  There was the residual anger that flavoured everything Jak did nowadays, but it was almost entirely supplanted by guilt.  Remorse from when he’d walked away, forcing Daxter into a role he shouldn’t have ever had to fill.  Contrite because he had left the redhead completely alone again.  And then there was the alternating pride and worry that had followed the progress made on the track, the want to reach out only to realize doing so was an unnecessary distraction.  More pride, swelling until it threatened to burst, making the shared victory something more than words could describe, made somewhat bittersweet when that shared enthusiasm might not be so easily shared.  Finally, and most powerfully, there was relief—that Daxter wasn’t mad at him, that he’d survived the race, that those broken feelings of confidence were no longer just pieces lying around.

It didn’t take long after that for fingers to tangle in hair and clothing as Daxter pushed back, melting into their kiss.  The only reason it never moved further that that was a sudden, loud burst of conversation that reminded them they weren’t alone.  Jak growled and glared, as if daring someone to actually walk into view.  Daxter laughed a bit unsteadily, pulling his friend’s face back around and kissing him again.

“Forget ‘bout ‘em,” he said when they pulled apart again.  “’Sides, I ain’t lookin’ to get busted for indecent exposure, no matter how hysterical Grandpa Green’s reaction would be to watch.  Kinda inglorious, all things considered, huh?”

Jak snorted, but let the redhead settle back on his own feet…and then promptly caught him again when his legs refused to hold his weight.  “Dax?”

“Huh?  Yeah, I’m good.”  He was staring at his hands, which were shaking like leaves in a strong wind.  He could feel similar tremors throughout his body, his heart rate spiking hard as the enormity of what had just happened finally hit home.  Whether Jak could feel it was debatable, so he added, “Adrenaline just wore off.”

“Then we should get back to the safehouse.”  A critical eye was already scanning the hallway.  “Do I need to carry you?”

“Only if you don’t plan on draggin’ me through the gutters.”

There wasn’t a verbal response to that.  Rather, Jak gathered his wrists in one hand and slipped the now hooped arms around his neck, swinging Daxter onto his back.  Those arms tightened when Jak let go and reached for his legs, helping him shift up so that the collapsed morphgun and hover board weren’t pressed uncomfortably into his chest.

“There are plenty of people dragging their drunk friends out of the bars by now,” Jak said.  “Just act like you’ve passed out and we should be fine.”

It was hard to relax with so many sharp angles poking him in the gut, but he managed to slump and drape over Jak’s shoulders like he’d been dumped that way.  “You sayin’ I can’t hold my alcohol, buddy?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”  And then Jak started walking.

Daxter closed his eyes and let his head loll.  It’d been a long time since he’d been carried like this.  There’d been a time when it had been almost every other day.  The onset of puberty had helped Jak grow taller and stronger.  It had tried to kill Daxter with gangly limbs and an absolute lack of balance or coordination.  He didn’t have any of those problems now, but then, he’d constantly trip over absolutely nothing, or knock something over, or run head-long into something that would leave a constant trail of bruised knees and scrapped hands.  Instead of making him limp back and potentially hurt himself more, Jak had carried him.  Always patiently listening to him whine about whatever hurt or rail about not being a kid who couldn’t take care of himself.  It never mattered how far they had to go, how superficial the injury, how petulant he was about the whole process, Jak was there with his silent offer, amused and patient instead of exasperated and irritated.  Always.

“I love you,” he murmured, not even aware he’d spoken out loud.  “I love you so much.”

The hands holding his legs gave a possessive squeeze as they continued on their way.  _I know._                                                               

***

_So are we lost or do we know which direction we should go?_   
_Sit around and wait for someone to take our hands and lead the way._   
_‘Cause every day we're getting older and every day we all get colder._   
_We're sick of waiting for our answers._   
_Wake up, wake up, wake up, I’m so tired of waiting, waiting for us to,_   
_Wake up, wake up, wake up, I’m so sick of waiting for us to make a move._

_~Make A Move – Lostprophets~_

\-------------------------------------------------------------

To be conitnued.


	9. Let Me Hear You Scream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit it. This was a shameless use of my talents and time to right a wrong that sorely pissed me off in-game. Why do all my favorite secondary characters get killed off?

Jak hummed in appreciation as Daxter’s spine bowed with a pretty, breathy keen.  Gods, he loved seeing the other like this—panting, skin flushed and shining with sweat, ears tipped down in pleasure, and lips bruised to the most brilliant shade possible through a combination of frantic kissing and being caught by those large, oddly sexy front teeth in an effort to hold back some noise.  He flexed his hands again, slowly and firmly kneading the nearly white skin of his partner’s ass.  This time, the hand working both of them missed its stride.  Daxter shuddered, a little whine escaping from behind teeth once more anchored into his lower lip.  Jak couldn’t resist leaning up and trailing his tongue over the abused spot, slipping inside that warm mouth when the other gasped.  Their kiss swallowed the trembling moan that followed.  Everything in Jak’s stomach tightened—oh yeah.  He was enjoying this way too much.

Then again, what wasn’t there to enjoy?  He had a sexy redhead naked and moaning his name in his lap.  One he had invited to do as such instead of simply being caught up in his friend’s passion.  It may have been Daxter’s long fingers now wrapped around their combined erections, but Jak was the one who had kissed first, touched first, coaxing them first out of their clothes and then those pale thighs to slide over his.  Seated in a chair with long legs spread over his lap was hot in and of itself, but add in the way slim hips rocked against his and all those wonderfully wistful sounds, and he was ready to spend his entire day right there, watching Daxter slowly come undone.  Absolutely nothing else seemed important anymore.

His hands kept absently kneading as his tongue fought against Daxter’s, fingers slowly creeping further back without notice.  That squirmy warm body in his grasp certainly noticed, however, when said fingers slipped along the cleft, brushing against the tight ring of muscle back there.  The mostly accidental touch brought a raw sound from lips ripped away from an intense kiss.  The redhead trembled, as if unsure if he should press into or away from the touch.  Jak solved that dilemma by very purposefully repeating the motion.  The breathy keen came back as the other tried to shove himself back without actually losing any contact in the front.  The arm that had kept him braced up lost its grip on the back of the chair and buckled, wrapping instead around the blond’s neck as the rest of the body collapsed down.  Daxter’s incredibly flexible spine curved and before he knew it, Jak had latched onto his partner’s throat with his teeth. 

Spurred on by the response, Jak continued to touch and tease.  Even the gentlest of pressure seemed to incite a desperate response, leaving Daxter writhing against him in the most interesting of ways.  The more he teased, the warmer those muscles became, eventually allowing the tip of one finger to penetrate.  It retreated again almost immediately, though the effect was lasting.  Daxter gasped sharply, hips jerking as the hand that had hitherto been rather relaxed around them suddenly jumped into overdrive.  There was a reedy whine of Jak’s name that brought a flush of fresh arousal.

“Again,” he demanded, though it wasn’t exactly clear what he wanted again.

Daxter yowled, rocking back against the continued intrusion.  “Yes!  Jak~!”

The next time, Jak’s finger slipped in even further.  That hot body clenched as Daxter choked back a scream.  Jak groaned thickly into his friend’s neck as the redhead’s hot release covered both of them, so close himself.  It was all he could do to give the other a few seconds to grab a breath before forcing those hips to move, growling, “Again.”

A shudder, a moan, and Daxter was moving, panting heavily around half formed pleas that never got much beyond the first syllable.  The hand around them was now super slick, making it glide even faster than before.  Jak resorted back to the possessive kneading, unwilling to risk injury despite wanting those noises even more.  In short order, he was coming himself, teeth once more buried in the tender skin of Daxter’s neck.

At the hand tightening in his hair and a sound of discomfort, Jak pulled away.  “Sorry…”

“No worries…” was the breathless reply.  “Just a…a little more ta the right…if ya wanna do that…”

Jak kissed the dark red mark he’d left behind, absently working his way over to the indicated spot.  “Here?” he asked, applying pressure much more kindly than before.  A little shiver ran up Daxter’s spine right before he sort of just melted.  Jak chuckled, shifting his arms up so that he was holding the other properly, settling into the warmth still radiating between them, content that everything was right in the world, if only for the moment.

Finally, Daxter shifted, groaning.  “Holy damn…  It’s hot when you get all assertive like that.”  He made a little satisfied noise when their lips met for a slow, soft kiss.  “You’ve been plannin’ this little move for a while, huh?”

It would have been a lie to say Jak had never thought of going further.  In fact, a lot of thought had gone into the matter, leaving him distracted and uncomfortable in his pants more often than not.  They’d had some downtime recently, so being preoccupied wasn’t much of a problem, but it certainly wasn’t helping anything either.  He’d been caught staring a couple of times now, wondering how amenable his friend would be to taking things further, and what it would feel like to be physically connected like that.  There were only two little, tiny problems with asking – he couldn’t control the amount of embarrassment he felt every time the idea popped into his head, and he had no way of knowing how Daxter would react.  Specifically, how Daxter would react to losing the leading position.

All things considered, Jak felt like he’d reconnected to normalcy as well as someone in his situation could.  Life wasn’t one aggressive confrontation after another anymore.  He wasn’t constantly scared or angry.  The nights without nightmares were slowly starting to increase while the days of descending into dark eco decreased.  Feeling safe, no matter how marginally, was something he’d never expected to feel again, and ninety percent of all that was because of Daxter.  If the redhead asked, there was very little Jak wouldn’t do for him.  Leaving his body vulnerable as was required by the fundamentals of two men having intercourse was not one of them.  Not anytime soon, at least.  And after allowing, encouraging, his friend to lead them this far, suddenly demanding to be the dominating force seemed insulting.

Though, if that little display was anything to go by, maybe it wasn’t as out of line as he thought…

There was still time and he was feeling rather playful, so Jak only offered up a sly smile.  “Maybe.”

The grin Daxter gave him was beautiful and infectious.  “Maybe.  Yeah.  Sure.  Well, _maybe_ I think yer lyin’ through yer teeth.”

“Am I?” Jak challenged, grinning back.  “And what makes you think that?”

“One, yer hands have been glued to my ass the entire mornin’, and two, they’re creepin’ back down now.”  There was a playful swat as said hands made a quick, rough grab.  “Point in case.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yer a bad liar, blondie.”  Daxter kissed him again.  “But I love ya anyway.”

Jak half opened his mouth to reply, but found his words lacking.  So instead, he pulled his friend down and showed him.  It seemed like a poor substitute.  If anyone ever deserved to hear those words returned, it was Dax.  They always inspired the same reaction regardless of when, where, or how they were spoken—a flutter in his stomach, a hard thump of his heart, and a suffusing warmth that eclipsed even the constant icy cold of dark eco.  He might not have know what to do with them in the beginning, was only now realizing he _didn’t_ have to do anything with them at all, but he was far and beyond that point now.  Everything was in those three little words, everything important and meaningful and only his when Daxter said them, for once using fewer words than necessary.  He wanted it to be like that for the redhead as well.  Unfortunately, all of his attempts so far had felt lack luster or hollow.  As important as it had become to give those words the weight of voice, Jak couldn’t seem to actually speak, once more relying on his actions to speak for him.  It figured that the one time he desperately wanted to say something would be the one time he could say nothing at all.

“Yer thinkin’ too hard.”  The breathy whisper against his ear sent a slight shiver down Jak’s spine even as other places began to warm again.  Daxter shifted against him, bringing attention to the sticky mess they were currently covered in.  “Don’t worry ‘bout it right now.  I don’t wanna share attention with anythin’ else.”  Teeth caught and nibbled along the edge of said ear, offering an easy distraction.

Jak relented, willingly letting his frustration go in favor of the wonderful things those teeth and tongue was doing.  There were plenty of other things that were waiting in the winds to consume their attention.  All things considered, they should be getting their asses in gear and high-tailing it over to the Stadium sooner than later.  The Class One race was this evening.  Keira had stressed the importance of being there early (even if the messages had been frost covered at best), but he found himself less than energetic about the prospect of spending most of his day in her garage.  Especially when he had a hot, hard, and (soon to be) squirming reason to stay right where he was.

More than that was the nagging feeling that things were about to blow up in their faces.  Dax had been saying for months now that Haven City was in its death throes.  For the first time, Jak was inclined to agree.  The drudgery of day to day life was taking on a panicked note.  KG patrols were up, but their attention was obviously focused elsewhere.  Sig had turned into a grim man with a mission no one else seemed to know, Krew was missing as often as he was found floating around, Vin had been voicing some quiet concerns about Kor (not directly, but the implication was clear), and even Torn had shown up one rain-drenched night with the vague warning of unrest.  If this really was the beginning of the end, then he really had no intention of letting this opportunity go to waste.

He was just getting ready to pull the other back into a lip lock when Daxter slipped from his lap completely.  “Nuh-uh,” the redhead said with a grin and a wag of his finger.  “You had yer turn.  Mine now, an’ I say we need a shower.”  He leaned in close, purposefully palming Jak’ renewing erection.  “Unless, ya know, yer not up for it.”

A hot, hard, _wet_ squirming redhead instantly appealed to Jak’s attention.  And was that a challenge he just heard?  He snarled playfully, lunging forward at the same moment Daxter bolted.  It wasn’t like there was much room to run or any place really to hide, so the chase didn’t last long, but they were both smiling and breathless with laughter when Jak claimed a victory kiss.

“So what happened to it bein’ my turn?” Daxter demanded with feigned petulance.

“You of all people should know better than to challenge me.”  Jak hoisted the smaller form up into his arms despite the squeaking protests.  “Besides,” he growled into a rapidly twitching ear, “I thought you liked it when I got assertive.”

“Just ‘cuz yer right doesn’t mean yer gonna win this argument.”

There was no way to really respond to that, so Jak let his friend win the war of words, kissing him in that slow, deliberate manner he’d become fond of when their relationship had just started.  Unlike then, when Daxter had kept such a tight grip on himself, he pressed back with everything he was.  That overwhelming affection he’d come to know as love poured out not only through the action, but also along their eco bond as well.  Jak tried to return the feeling, only to become confused when Dax pulled away.

“S’okay.  Don’t force yerself.  I can wait to hear it.”

That hardly seemed fair, but really what in their lives had been?  “You’d better,” Jak mumbled, pressing for another kiss and the heat of desire to ease the sudden hard pit in his stomach.

***

“So, uh…what’s plan B?”

They were a bit further than ‘B’ on the list of scrapped plans.  It was more like ‘S’ now, for screwed over, which Krew had done a marvelous job of facilitating.  And now, the only other person Jak trusted was gone, too.  That’s why they’d headed to the Hip Hog once Ashelin had saved them from the Weapon’s Factory, to find Sig.  If there was one person in all of Haven who knew what the crime lord’s final bet was, it would be the Wastelander.  Only Sig had already gotten caught in the trap, and was now lost to the catacombs under the Port.

There wasn’t time to mourn, or be angry, or anything other than slightly frustrated.  Metalhead Grunts were just the first wave an invasion force.  It wouldn’t be long before the combat drones showed up and things went from worst to completely fucked.  The Precursor Stone hadn’t been attached to the bomb that finished Krew, so that meant the Baron still had it somewhere.  As long as he held it, there was still the possibility of him trying to crack it open, which would end much more than the war.  And then there were the two artifacts, the Heart of Mar and the Time Map, still in their possession.  Keira’s newly rebuilt Rift Rider needed both in order to get them the hell out of there—if they could ever find the Rift Gate itself.

Before the lift dumped them back out into the open air, Jak had already chosen his next course of action.  There was nothing to be done about the Metalheads right now—the KG was just going to have to be enough to keep them at bay for the time being.  The Stone and Praxis were easily the biggest threat, but also the hardest to pinpoint and do something about.  For the moment, Ashelin was on their side, so maybe she could keep it from happening sooner than later.  The Stadium might have been on the other side of the city, yet it was still the most viable plan available.  If they could get the Precursor Artifacts to the garage, where they’d be protected by thick concrete and thicker metal, then the chances of someone surviving long enough to actually use them skyrocketed.  Provided, of course, that Praxis didn’t get ahead of himself again by blowing everything to hell in a hand-basket first.

Plan B?  Survive.

They got lucky, coming out of the Underport on the far side by some warehouses that never saw a lot of traffic to begin with and were therefore deserted now.  They got luckier because not far away from their reentrance was a zoomer, unattended and in pretty decent shape.  Daxter had it hotwired within seconds and then they were flying out at top speeds towards the Stadium Arcade.  Getting there via the roads by the Palace may have been the faster route, but the Gardens always saw less traffic and provided a more direct route.  And with the way Daxter could drive, all of the extra turns meant nothing on their timing. 

Cramming the two of them onto the one person hover bike was an art they’d perfected, leaving Jak free to watch the landscape rush past without having to worry about falling off.  It was an oddly removed moment, watching the Grunts run down the people unlucky enough to be caught outside.  For once, the Krimzon Guard seemed to be doing their jobs, standing their ground as civilians fled past them.  It was painfully obvious, however, that it wasn’t going to be enough.  The Grunts, and Cloakers now, too, had infiltrated much further into the city than he had thought possible for the amount of time available.  How were they coming in so quickly from that one tunnel?

They were halfway through the Western Bazaar when he felt the sudden change in the air.  The constant background hum that he had long ago learned to ignore disappeared.  A sharp, static-like shock rolled over them, causing the machine under them to shudder and dip down dangerously close to a group of Metalheads. 

Daxter swore as he veered around the obstacle, shifting hover zones so that they didn’t actually crash into the ground.  “What the—”  Their comm. beeped, cutting off the rest of the question.

“The Shield Walls are down!” Vin screamed in panic before Jak could say anything himself.  “I repeat, the Shield Walls are down!  They’re down and I can’t get them back up!  It’s sabotage!”

“Vin—”

“It was Kor!  He’s done…something, I don’t know what, but _I can’t fix it_!  I don’t know what to do!”

“Vin, just hang on—”

“—I always knew Metalheads would be the death of…oh, gods…  They’re here.  They’re here and I don’t know how long the—”  The comm. cut out.  Vin didn’t respond to any of their hails.

The zoomer skidded to a halt just as they entered the Arcade District.  Daxter pushed the bag with the artifacts into Jak’s arms, jumping free from the vehicle and hurrying to another.  “Go on, get outta here,” he yelled when Jak tried to follow.  “Get that junk to Keira before we turn it to slag.  Just follow the water—it’ll get you where ya need to go.”  The zoomer started up and the redhead was in the seat, giving him a hard glare.  “We already lost Sig.  Metalheads ain’t getting’ anyone else.  If I hurry, I can make it.  I know I can.”

Jak wanted to argue.  As much as he agreed with the intention, as bad as he’d feel doing nothing to prevent Vin’s death, he almost couldn’t stand the thought to letting Daxter out of his sight.  Not with the rest of the world already falling apart.  Per typical, Dax didn’t give him the opportunity to argue.  The two zoomers were sidled up next to each other, and then the front of his shirt was grabbed, yanking him into a hard kiss before the words could form.

“I got the best reason in the world to come back right here,” Daxter said softly when they pulled apart.

There was no changing his friend’s mind, or rather, no time to see what it would take to break the resolve Jak saw in those bright blue eyes.  “Put the earbud back in,” he finally said, almost choking on the words, “and take the morphgun.  Ammo’s maxed—you shouldn’t have any issues defending the Power Station until I get there.”  He grabbed Daxter’s shoulders when he started to move away.  “Stay there.”

“I’ll stay as long as it’s safe ta stay.”  He slung the weapon across his back.  “You’ll be okay without this, right?”

“All I need is dark eco.  The more Metalheads I kill, the more I’ll have.  I’ll be fine.”

Daxter nodded absently, flinching as the lights around them flickered.  “You’d better come find me,” he breathed into another kiss.

“You’d better be there when I do,” Jak replied as they separated.

A ghost of that cocky smile crossed the other’s face.  “Orange Lightnin’ never disappoints.”

And then they were racing in opposite directions.  Jak kept low to the water, swinging through the winding channel he was using as his own personal speedway to the Stadium.  Overhead, he caught snippets of action—mostly the snarls of Grunts and blaster shots, sometimes the defiant scream of a life ending.  Once, he heard a squad leader calling for backup.  As much as he hated the KG, a part of him felt a twinge of sympathy.  If the Metalhead hordes were already this thick this deep into the city, there was no backup to send.  Everyone was on their own.

“ _Fuck, they’re everywhere_ , _”_ he heard Daxter mutter, echoing his own thoughts as he roared into the large courtyard in front of the Stadium.  Skull gems glittered across the ground like a perverse candle-light vigil to honour the dead.  At least they all seemed to be lower-end ground types, simply occupying the space, rather than actively trying to take it over.  He had a moment to consider the fact that maybe rushing headlong onto the scene like this was a bad idea, drawing undo attention to himself and the people he was trying to get to.  Then he hit the throttle and plowed into an unsuspecting group, rolling clear as the zoomer exploded from the excess damage.  The flaming ball of metal and limbs drew quite a bit of attention. Almost none of it seemed to be direct toward Jak as he sprinted for the garages.

It was both a relief and a worry to see the Stadium hallways so clean and unscarred.  The only sound he could hear was the dull echo of his boots on the concrete.  With all the bay doors firmly sealed, the area felt cramped, stifling.  There were red alarm lights flashing everywhere, but for once, there was no accompanying alarm sounding.  In short order, he reached the corridor’s end, hand slamming a little more forcefully then necessary against the call button.

“Keira, open the door.”

There was silence to greet the demand.  Then, very faintly, a line of static.  “…Jak?”

He tried not to notice how young or uncertain her voice sounded.  “Yeah.  Let me in.”

More static.  “…can’t.  …Stadium…automa—…lockdown.  Power’s…cut…except basi—…going on?”

An ominous growl drew his attention back the way he’d come. “The Shield Walls broke and the Metalheads are invading.  How can I get to you?”

“…maintenance…back a coup—…leads…service tunnel.  …--ould bring you…lift area.  …careful.”

Finding the correct door wasn’t that much of a trial.  Getting it open was something entirely different.  Without power, it as just another metal wall.  A flimsy one as it turned out, when his patience snapped and he lashed out with a fist.  He hadn’t done more than seriously dent it, but it was enough to give him a grip along one edge, allowing him to pull and warp the door out of its tracks.  The next door, this one leading to the service tunnels, suffered a similar fate in short order.  The red alarm lights were down here, too, the only thing keeping the seemingly endless tunnel from complete darkness.  Hoping there was only one offshoot per garage, he counted back the number of bays he’d passed.  The branch he finally decided was the right one did indeed lead to a large, pitch black area where an elevator could pass.  That meant a ladder and an access hatch had to be close by, both of which were found after a few blind gropes.

He’d barely begun to heave against the hatch when it flew open, momentarily blinding him with the sudden light.  Large hands clamped onto his shoulders, bodily hauling him out of the opening.  Jak snarled and lashed out, his boots nailing the attacker in the shin at the same moment his elbow dug into a diaphragm.  He was released just in time to catch the large torque wrench aimed for his head.

Keira blinked at him, then launched herself into his arms, all their previous disagreements and tension seemingly forgotten.  “I’m so glad you’re okay.  I’ve been so worried since the race…”  She stepped back, looking sheepish.  “Sorry about the wrench.”

Jak waved it off, turning to see who had grabbed him.  Brutter was still sitting on the ground, a hand running the abused shin.  “Sorry about that.”

The Lurker grinned up at him.  “Is fine.  You startle us as much as we startle you.  Only fair.”

“Where’s Daxter?” Keira asked, looking around.

“Helping Vin.”  Jak pulled the artifacts out and handed them to her.  “We figured these would be safer with you than us.”

The items only distracted her for a second.  “Father says the Rift Gate’s somewhere in the Metalhead nest.  Brutter’s offered to lend us a balloon to get the Rider there, but…”

Jak shook his head.  “The courtyard’s filled with Metalheads.  I can’t defend everyone alone.  Besides, you need to get out of here.  I tore through two doors to get this far.  The Metalheads won’t be far behind for long.”

“I’m not leaving,” Keira replied stubbornly.  “The doors are all locked and we’ve got the only other entrance covered.  This is there safest place we’ll find anywhere and I’m not just going to abandon the Rift Rider after all the work I’ve put into it.  You go do what you need to do and we’ll figure out how to meet you later.”

“No worries,” Brutter interrupted, clapping a hand against Jak’s back hard enough to make him stumble a bit.  “Lurker brothers come as we speak.  Metal-Headers no find our tunnels.  We defend girl and plant-man for you.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You no ask; we tell.  Our honour and privilege for Jak and Orangey brother.”

No sooner had the nickname been spoken than the constant muttered from the earbud turned into an ear-shattering squeal.  Jak clawed the thing free, wincing as the feedback became even stronger, then turned to a harsh static before going silent.  He tossed it without a second thought, pinning Brutter with a hard look.  “You swear?”

A big hand thumped against an equally big chest.  “My life before theirs.”

Jak dropped back through the hatch without a word more, Keira’s “be safe” echoing after him, but it wasn’t his safety that he was concerned with.  A part of him felt bad about leaving so quickly.  That part was drowned in anger when an intense wash of pain filtered through the eco bond, merging with the physical pain of the dark eco rushing to his command.  The first three Metalheads he encountered never knew what hit them.  The rest only saw Death coming for them.  He tore through the ranks with single-minded purpose, absorbing the remnant energy as quickly as he used it, always moving forward.

It was impossible to say how he got from one corner of the city to the other or how quickly he’d done it.  All Jak knew was that it was too far and it took too long.  The area around the Power Station was a complete wreck.  Everything was scorched or shredded, then blackened with gore.  More than a few red suited corpses mixed in with the heaps of metal plates scattered around—all that remained of the Metalheads that had been slain.  He picked his way across the slick causeway, attention caught between looking out for more enemies and the sinking feeling that he was already too late to do anything.  The doorway to the Power Station was in ruins, ripped apart, twisted, and melted into an unrecognizable lump.  The armour plating that earned Metalheads their name was piled high in the entrance, all bearing the scars of gunfire on them.  Behind that was a bunch of broken stone and partially melted metalwork.  It didn’t take much to reduce it the rest of the way to useless rubble.

“Not more,” a familiar voice moaned, followed quickly by the ricochet of a fired shot.  “Stay back!”

“Fer the love a hell, Vin.  You touch that gun one more time an’ I’m gonna—”

Jak hauled back on a large chunk of what might have been ceiling, revealing Daxter and Vin crammed up on the far side of the room.  Both were bloody, disheveled, and soot covered, but very much alive and that was all that mattered.  By the time Daxter had pulled the pistol from the engineer’s hands, Jak had found his way over to them.  Everything else was momentarily forgotten as he pulled the other to him in a tight hug.

“Never again,” he growled, finally letting the eco go completely.  “You’re not going off on your own again.”

“Fuck yeah, I’m not,” Daxter replied tiredly.  “This hero business sucks.”  He cringed.  “Watch the arm…”

He pulled back, for the first time getting a good look at the injuries.  The most serious was Dax’s arm, which was covered in burns already blistering and sloughing skin from hand to shoulder.  There was blood dripping from one of his ears and there was a cut under one eye.  An assortment of bruises and minor scratches rounded out the list.  Vin was wearing his own set of burns, though they weren’t as bad.  One of his legs was mauled pretty badly, as was one shoulder, and his clothes were in tatters from near misses, leaving his skin littered with abrasions.

The cuts and bruises, Jak could understand.  But…  “What the hell burned?”

Daxter coughed, looking elsewhere as Vin scrounged for the first aid supplies.  His ears dropped to his shoulders as his cheeks turned redder than his hair.  “Yeah…  Peacemakers?  They’re attracted ta metal.  All kinds.”

It took a second for the implication to become clear.  “You fired a Peacemaker round _inside_ the Power Station?”

“The force was compounded by the eco energy already running rampant here,” Vin said.  “Under normal circumstances, it would have been fine—not that I’d advise it anyway.  But I was tearing apart the panels, trying to bypass whatever Kor set-up in the mainframe, so when he fired—”

“Hey!” Daxter snapped hotly.  “I wouldn’ta fired it if someone hadn’t jumped the gun an’ tried ta _shoot me_!”

“I already apologized for that.  Give me your arm.”  Vin didn’t wait for compliance.  He lifted Daxter’s burnt arm up into an angle and started pouring a viscous, faintly green concoction across the damaged area.  Upon contact, the skin began to heal, the edges smoothing over and the swelling reducing dramatically.  The tincture was spread over the entire area before being wrapped tightly.  “Not the most concentrated stuff ever, but better than nothing.  How’s it feel?”

The redhead swung his arm a bit.  “I can move it; close enough.”  He hauled the morphgun back up.  “Before the light show interrupted stuff, there was a commotion.”

Vin nodded.  “Kor wanted this place taken out before a meeting at the construction site.  If you hurry, you might still be able to catch up with him.  Just…ah…move the rock back in front of the door when you leave, will you?  I don’t want anything coming back this way, if…uh…if you don’t mind.”

With a promise to come dig him back out as soon as things settled, the two of them sealed the Power Station back up.  Compared to their earlier treks, getting to the construction site was frighteningly easy.  The once bustling part of the city was absolutely still and devoid of life.  Even the Metalheads seemed to have vanished from the area.  Sirens still sounded uselessly, their noise more death knell than warning.  They ran through it without pause, reaching the construction ground just in time to see what little remained of the Krimzon Guard and Baron Praxis face off against Kor—and lose as the man who had been the first to show them a kindness and appreciation became the abomination behind all of it.

Metal Kor tore the area apart looking for the Precursor Stone, but it appeared the Baron’s last bit of trickery worked out to their benefit (for once).  Daxter went to work on freeing the Stone from the bomb while Jak stared down at the rapidly cooling corpse of his most hated person.  Thunder pealed overhead, bringing with it a somber rain the blond barely noticed. 

He tried to feel angry that his chance for revenge had been taken away.  He tried to cobble together enough excess hate to at least shoot the already dead man.  It felt like he should be able to do something, cry, scream, rend, _anything_ to bring justice, vindication, closure to the trauma and scarring he’d suffer with for the rest of his life.  At this point, however, it was more numbing to take in the destruction than anything else.  He somehow couldn’t muster the emotion that had driven him this far.  Loathe the man, despise his work, his methods, his mentality and the men who had sacrificed their humanity and lives for him, yes.  Forever and always.  But that driving, consuming enmity was more than no longer important, it was no longer there at all.  Even on the brink of death, when Praxis had seen him as a weapon, a tool to be used for his end and nothing more, Jak still couldn’t find more than a muted disgust for the insane leader.

“Die by yourself,” he muttered, letting the last of the animosity wash away with the rain.  “The rest of us got something worth living for.”

Daxter was standing behind him when he turned, the Stone in hand and that dangerous, manic grin on his face.  “Like candy from a baby,” he said, twirling the item idly.  “Ready to go hit big ugly where the sun don’t shine an’ the metal don’t cover?”

Jak let his own renegade smirk match his friend’s.  “Yeah.  Let’s go say thanks for all that help he’s given us.”

He never once looked back as they ran to find a transport.

***

_Are you ready for the last fight?_   
_Get ready with the war cry!_   
_Let me hear you scream like you want it_   
_Let me hear you yell like you mean it_   
_If you’re going to go down, go loud, go strong, go proud_   
_Go hot, go hard, or go home._   
_Let me hear you scream!_

_~Let Me Hear You Scream — Ozzy Osbourne~_

\-------------------------------------------------------------

To be continued.


	10. Ai wa Sensou (KAITO Vers.)

Slowly, silence filled the cavern, settling with a heavy finality no one dared break.  It was as if simply breathing too hard would cause reality to shatter around them, undoing everything accomplished so far.  But as the seconds continued to pass without another sick, twisted joke being played out, it began to sink in that the end actually meant the end this time.  They stared at each other, battered, bleeding and in complete shock, barely daring to hope.

They had won.  And then, perhaps, more importantly—

_They were still alive._

The enormity of it all was staggering.  Though their words might have been to the contrary, it had been understood that walking away from this encounter wasn’t at all likely.  A direct assault on the Metalhead Nest had never resulted in more than the decimation of the attacking force—why would their attempt meet with any better success?  But somehow, it had turned out better and now the Metalhead Leader was nothing more than singed gore and smoking bits strewn around his last hiding place.

To be honest, though, Kor had killed himself.  Sure, Jak had done a fair amount of damage with his dark eco powers, finally losing all of his hesitation and reservation when it came to his unwanted abilities.  Daxter had felt it pour out like a lanced lesion with every strike that landed, all the hate, fear, frustration, and revulsion the blond had no doubt been carrying quietly all this time.  The sheer force of all that had certainly wounded, maybe even crippled the metallic bastard, but it hadn’t killed him.  No, the honour of finally ending his miserable reign of terror had to be given to the Precursors and their infernal creation that had started this whole mess, the Rift Gate.

Maybe he’d finally seen his death in those liquid black eyes.  Figured out that against the two of them, he really didn’t stand a chance of living even if he managed to kill them in the process.  Whatever it was that had prompted Kor to try and make a run for the Rift Gate didn’t really matter in the long run.  What mattered was that the Universe finally turned in their direction and stopped the whole mess from starting over somewhere else in the timeline.  With an astronomically lucky combination of sustained wounds, a powerful wave of dark eco, and a couple well placed rounds from the blaster rifle, Kor rammed into the relic rather than going through it.  The floating pieces had scythed through the large, carapaced body while frying it with the raw energy it contained.  The end effect was rather like watching an un-cracked piece of shellfish being overcooked, the internal pressure rising until the whole thing exploded.  Even from across the cavern where he’d been pressed into a crevice, taking out all the other Metalheads Kor produced (which was not something the redhead planned to think about at all if he could help it), Daxter had been spattered with the gore and knocked senseless by the resulting explosion.

So what if they hadn’t been the final bullet in the brain?  Kor was more than burnt toast and they’d been there to make sure of that.  In his book, that was as good as killing the son of a bitch himself.

Never one to leave well enough alone, Daxter eased out of his hole and limped over to where Jak was staring at Kor’s head, the only piece that hadn’t turned to pulp.  It was slow progress with the ground torn up from battle and his already twisted ankle protesting every step of the way, but he eventually came to rest at the blond’s side.  It was very tempting to pump a few more rounds into the cracked yellow gem just for good measure, but he was really more concerned about Jak.  The total lack of an emotional response was kind of concerning.  This was the end of a very long road for him, and for once, Daxter didn’t want to push.  A hug or something shouldn’t be out of line, would it?  Wasn’t this something worth a little bit of celebrating?

He was still deciding what to do when a horrendous screech filled the air.  Both he and Jak whirled, trying to determine where this new threat was coming from when something made Daxter look up.  “Ya gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me…”

It was the Rift Gate.  The impact and resulting explosion had apparently done something to the ancient artifact, causing the many pieces to wobble and lose sync.  The screech increased as it became even more unstable, spitting metallic sparks and bolts of unconstrained energy as it began collapsing at an exponentially faster rate.  It hit complete catastrophic failure in almost the same amount of time it took them to both realize what that failure would mean.  Jak slammed into his side, knocking them both into the only relatively safe place left—the hole in the center of the room.  The fall itself was mercifully short, if not somewhat hard.  Despite all outward appearances, the pit Kor had so adamantly guarded was relatively shallow, only extending down somewhere near five feet and just about as wide around.  More than enough clearance to protect them from the closely following explosion, but still far enough to fall that the abrupt stop at the end could stun.

Eventually, the world stopped ending.  It took a bit longer for them to uncurl from their defensive positions.  Daxter took a breath to say something, only to have Jak cut him off with a hand pressed over his mouth.  “Don’t,” he warned.  “Not a single sarcastic comment until we’re out of here.”

“Smartass,” Daxter hissed back after the hand was removed.  “You don’t even know what I was gonna say!”  The look Jak gave him said everything that really needed to be said on the subject.  He was still set to argue the point when another twinge suddenly had him looking off to the side.  Curled up on the far side of them in just about as small of a ball as possible was Widgit, his head buried into his knees with his hands over his ears, but thankfully looking none the worse for the experience.  No wonder Kor had been so keen on defending this spot—his meal ticket was hidden there.

When pointed out, all Jak did was stare awkwardly.  That was probably all right given it wasn’t everyday that someone was confronted with a younger version of themselves without being completely off their rockers first.  Oh, that was going to be weird for a while, having two “Jaks” running around.  It was probably a good idea to stick with Widgit for the foreseeable future.  Even if they weren’t quite sure how, it did go a long way towards explaining more than a few things.  But Daxter pushed all those thoughts aside as he crawled over and gently prodded the lump of shivering kid.  As soon as those wondrous and now achingly familiar blue eyes looked up, the redhead found himself nearly knocked to the floor again by an over-enthusiastic hug.  With an enormous sense of relief, his arms tightened around the smaller body in turn.  “See?  Told ya I’d be there when ya needed me the most.”

He was surprised when a second body pressed against his back, arms wrapping around both him and the kid.  “Yes, you were,” Jak’s dark voice answered.  Again, Daxter opened his mouth to say something and again, his friend beat him to the punch, silencing him with a quick kiss this time.  “Later,” he promised.  “When it’s all done and over with.”

“Then let’s grab the Precursor Stone and get it finished.”

Getting back out of the hole was a lot harder than getting into it had been.  The sides and edge had been worn completely smooth and then covered with the shiny, pseudo-organic material they’d seen throughout the rest of the Nest area.  Eventually it came down to a creative set of pulling, shoving, and tossing to gain a foothold on solid ground.  Taking in their surroundings once more, Daxter couldn’t help but whistle in awe.  Despite being flung all about the area, none of the pieces of the Rift Gate seemed to be damaged.  That still didn’t do them a lot of good.  Figured that they’d be able to win the war, but fail to find a way to get back home.  All that hard work to get the Heart of Mar and the Time Map was now officially wasted, not to mention all the time and effort Keira had applied into rebuilding the Rift Rider.  Thinking of which…

“Holy damn…Keira’s gonna be pissed.”

“It was in pieces when we found it the first time,” Jak replied rather carelessly.  “She can put it back together again.”

“Yeah, but it took her months to do it that time.  Besides, there’s a slightly more pressin’ issue –who the hell’s gonna haul it outta here?  ‘Cuz I tell you right now, brother, I ain’t touchin’ anythin’ remotely Precursor in nature.  We have been screwed over one too many times by their crap and I ain’t goin’ back to the fur, or endin’ up somewhere else in the timeline just ‘cuz someone forgot to carry a two somewhere.  Not happenin’.”

Jak just shook his head.  “One thing at a time, Dax.  Find the Stone, save the city, _then_ figure out what to with all—”

As if their shot nerves hadn’t had more than enough excitement for their lifetime’s today, a bright flash of light cut into the statement, earning an armed response from both of them.  Apparently considering it safe enough to wander, Widgit had done just that and stumbled across the object of their search.  The Precursor Stone pulsed softly a couple more times before emitting another bright flash.  When the spots cleared from their vision, the light had condensed into a large, floating image.  Daxter froze.  Behind him, he heard Jak breath, “Oh, man…  A Precursor.”

_Thank you_ , a deep, resonant voice said, though the words were felt rather than actually heard.  _Because of your actions today, our ancient foe has been defeated and that which had been wrong, righted.  Know now, brave one, that the darkness in you has been tempered by a glorious light.  Until we met again…_

The figure shimmered, then dissolved.  There was a soft chiming sound as the Stone itself abruptly fell to pieces, breaking as easily as spun sugar, until nothing remained but a small ball of orange fur amid thousands of glittering stone fragments.  Before he could be stopped, Widgit poked it.  It wiggled in response, slowly uncurling.  Ears perked up, a tail unfurled, tiny paws stretched.  The little ottsel then sat up and chirped, a sound that was somehow questioning and expectant.

A part of Daxter was stunned.  A part of him bubbled over with questions, curses, and a good old fashioned hissy-fit.  The pieces were all lined up in his head, but he really couldn’t process the whole picture.  He wasn’t sure he even wanted to try and risk the madness of understanding.  He looked to Jak for support and only saw the confusion mirrored under exhaustion.  For the first time, Daxter wisely shut his mouth and turned away.  He wasn’t going to ask.  He didn’t want to know anything other than, “We ready to go _now_?”

Jak blinked, the dazed look on his face replaced by the much more familiar one of focused determination.  He stepped forward, scooping Widgit up, who seemed to have made friends with the ottsel kit and was clinging to it much like a favorite stuffed animal.  The little beast seemed quite content to be as such, offering no resistance and even purring slightly when Jak came close.  Kid now secure in one arm, the blond turned and pulled Daxter close with the other.  There was a strong thrum of possessiveness now that they were all together, followed by a fierce protective rumble that pulsed in the background.  Then rough lips pressed a kiss to his forehead.  “Yeah.  Let’s go home.”

***

With a snarl, Jak threw his weight into the door.  It groaned in protest, but opened nonetheless.  Another hard shove and it finally had budged far enough to let two tired renegades and their cargo tumble past.  The bolt-hole of a safe house wasn’t much different from the one they’d found themselves in so long ago after sneaking into the Palace.  Only this time instead of finding the cramped quarters threatening, Jak was thankful for the small, enclosed space.  Easier to defend, less likely to be hiding a nasty surprise, and he could keep a direct eye on everyone at the same time.  The fighting was mostly contained now to the Port and parts of the Southern Garden area, well away from this spot in the heart of the slums, but they had already paid the price once for not taking extra precautions.   The death of Shadow-Samos in a supposedly secure location had rattled a lot of people, but it had also spurred on that final push to get the Metalheads out of the city.  It had left Jak with an even more keen need to protect his own, one that still pumped strongly through his blood now, nearly a week after climbing out of the Metalhead Nest.

Daxter managed a tired smile for him when he looked over.  Draped over his back, soundly asleep, was Widgit with the young ottsel they’d found nestled between them. “Go ahead,” the redhead said with a jerk of his chin.  “Do yer rounds.  I’ll check here an’ get him down.”

Jak hesitated a bit, that drive to ensure safety warring with the need to be close.  Daxter gave him the look he’d perfected over the last few days.  The one that said, “Go.  Or I’m gonna shoot ya in the ass with yer own gun.”  He knew better than to call that bluff (mostly because Torn already had once and was now sporting a red badge of courage for the effort), so Jak found it in his best interest to slip back out and make sure the area was indeed safe.  He wasn’t the only one feeling aggressively protective.  It was part of the reason they’d retreated back this far into the city.  Now that things were quieting down, more people would notice the heir of Haven’s throne with them.  And the more who noticed, the more likely it was that someone would try to use the kid—which was not going to happen as long as he and Daxter were breathing.  No one, not Torn, not Ashelin, not even Samos, was going to destroy this chance for things to go right.  An innocent child was not going to be used for someone else’s gain again.

Satisfied that they were as safe as they’d ever be, he returned to the safe house and bullied the door back into submission.  Widgit was still asleep, bundled up in a blanket scrounged up from somewhere and curled into the far corner of the mattress on the floor.  Daxter had lit some candles and was spreading them out, moving with a bad limp and the slow deliberateness of the exhausted.  Finding Samos and having the Sage perform a full healing was the first thing they were going to do tomorrow, Jak decided.  Thus far, all medical attention had been reserved to just enough to get them back and running again.  The second degree plasma burns on the redhead’s arm had yet to be treated properly and if he twisted his ankle _again_ , he was going to break it.  Then, of course, there were the many other bumps, bruises, lacerations, and abrasions he’d accumulated throughout their recent adventures in trying to route the remaining Metalhead forces.  Once they were back to full health, they could…

Could what exactly?  There was nothing left to prepare for.  No next mission to anticipate, no one to hunt down or try to avoid.  Sure, there were still things that need to be done.  With the last few stubborn enemy groups on the fast track to annihilation, energy would start turning to rebuilding the city, to getting a functioning government back up and running so that people could get the help they needed.  But none of that was his job.  He’d do what he could to help, that was a given.  Ultimately, however, the weight of the world no longer rested on his shoulders.  Success or failure wasn’t wholly dependent upon his actions anymore.  His job was done.  It was over.

The world tilted a bit as that thought took root.  He found himself shaking, his eyes stinging, and it was suddenly hard to breath.  It felt like his heart was going to break through his ribs.  Jak clenched his hands, gritted his teeth, trying to force the rising emotion away before it overwhelmed him, to no avail.  It pounded through his temples, made him ache in a way not entirely unlike the Dark Eco treatments had.  Helpless, floundering, devastated, disappearing…

Cold hands on his face shocked him back to the present.  Clear blue eyes wide with concern and worry grounded him to the moment.  It persisted, though, the roiling, tumultuous feelings that left him feeling fragile and lost.  His own hands held Daxter’s to his cheeks, trying to take that small comfort further than it could go.  If anything, it only made that tenuous control of his slip even more.

“Jak…?!”  Rising concern.  Controlled panic.  That instant rush of mental/emotion support edged with uncompromising ardor and the unflinchingly resolute will to right whatever was so terribly wrong helped him find his suddenly lost voice.

“It’s…  Is it really…?”  He couldn’t even get the words out.  His throat kept constricting, choking him.  But he had to get it out, had to hear it.  “Tell me it’s over,” he finally managed miserably.

There was no hesitation, no reservation, no embellishment.  “Yeah, big guy.  It’s over.”  And then he was pulled into the strongest hug Daxter could manage, which was still pretty damn strong.

In the face of those words and that embrace, Jak broke.  Nearly three years of all the things he’d denied, locked away, or refused to acknowledge surged free now that there was nothing left to keep it in check.  For the first time since that dark realization that he could no longer remember how long it had been since his capture, Jak cried, only instead of burying his face into his own arms, it was Daxter’s neck that he hid against.  He pulled the other close, practically crushing the smaller form in his need to feel that weight and heat against his own.  If he felt any discomfort, contorted and mauled as he was being, Daxter gave no indication of it.  He simply let Jak do as was needed.  Hands carded through disheveled blond hair, stroked down a trembling back.  There was a soft murmur of reassurance bubbling over the top of everything else, helping soothe and soften the rough edges as Jak fell apart.

He cried out all the pain he’d ignored.  Not just the physical pain of the eco treatements or the transformation they had brought about, but the emotional pain of being singled out, treated as less than human, left to die.  He cried out the suppressed guilt for causing so much pain to others, for not caring about whom he hurt, for carrying out an ultimately pointless vendetta, for being the one who survived when so many others had not, strapped to that table or out on the streets.  He cried for the loss of the only home he’d known, the childhood he been stripped of, had ripped away from others, and the knowledge he’d never again be able to trust the people around him as he once had.  He cried until there was nothing left to cry about. 

After a while, the tears began to dry.  The emotional wounds scabbed back over.  He’d never felt so tired or heavy in all his life as he did right then.  His chest still ached, his head still throbbed, and he still felt like a single, unintentional blow was going to leave him absolutely shattered, but at the very center of it, there was a piece of calm that hadn’t existed before.  Or maybe it had and he’d just been too preoccupied to ever notice it.  Regardless of when it had really come into existence, it was there now, solid enough to be nearly tangible.  And it was so warm…  How long had it been since he was this kind of warm?

“Sorry,” he mumbled, shifting so that the other wouldn’t be so bend out of shape.  Daxter conformed to the new position just as readily as he had the last, strong yet supple in all the ways that mattered.  “You didn’t need that.”

“But _you’ve_ needed to do that for a while,” was the dismissive reply.  “Least ya did it here rather than out there.  ‘Sides, it’s not like these clothes won’t need to be burned after all this anyway.  An’ what’s a little mucus between friends?”

“That doesn’t mean I should dump it on you.”

“Yeah, well, cryin’ is a bit like pukin’ for the soul.  Gettin’ that far sure as hell ain’t pretty, but ya feel better for it in the end.  As long as ya feel better, it’s worth it.”

Despite everything, Jak found himself chuckling.  “Thanks.  That makes me feel so much better,” he said sarcastically.  He could feel Daxter grinning.  Jak just shook his head and hugged the redhead tighter.

They held onto one another long after the calm absorbed them both, simply enjoying the rare moment of silence and the comfort of the other’s arms. It was only after a great length of time that Jak moved, finally feeling brave enough to actually face the world.  Daxter seemed equally reluctant to let go, but allowed him to pull away.  There were tear tracks on his own reddened cheeks that Jak found himself brushing away.  It earned him a warm if not somewhat watery smile in return.  He looked as tired and beat up as the blond felt.  That alone decided Jak’s next course of action.

Daxter squeaked a bit when he was roughly pulled into a kiss, although he was almost instantly pressing back with an enthusiasm that bordered on the frantic.  Their first real kiss in a week was desperate and relieved and slightly wet.  Not even the need for air was enough for them to break apart for more than a second’s gasp.  Suddenly, Jak was the one doing the supporting.  He lifted the other without a second thought, driving their mouths together just that much harder, trying to convey too much through action alone.  But he couldn’t stop, either, not when he could feel the need Daxter had pulling at him, buried deep under so many other bruises and hurts.

“I love you.”  A breathless whisper, barely words at all in the physical world.  The body in his arms still jerked, their kiss breaking completely with a sharp gasp.  Daxter stared at him with wide, uncertain eyes, panting and trembling.

“Jak—”

“I love you,” he repeated, both his voice and his conviction stronger, accenting the phrase with another kiss.  “I love you so much.  I think I always have.  I just—”  Fingers across his lips stilled the almost panicked spill.

“Words were never yer strong suit.”  The tone was teasing, but the smile was pure happiness.  “But I’m glad ya finally found ‘em.”

The kiss Daxter gave him in turn was so gentle, it hurt.  That warmth in Jak’s chest flared, bright and beautiful as it unfurled, nearly the same as the light he’d seen in the redhead for so long now.  And just as it had connected and completed something then, so it did the same now, twining through the dark without disrupting it, sealing the cracks that had once threatened to tear him apart.

Finally, everything settled and they pulled back.  Daxter yawned so cutely, his eyes noticeably starting to droop, and then flushed when Jak chuckled.  “What?” he demanded.

The blond just shook his head, carrying them over to where Widgit had yet to stir from.  He felt just as tired, all the strain that had lead up to this moment no longer there to keep them going.  While Daxter fussed with creating a comfortable spot, Jak made one last check of the door and extinguished the candles.  They curled up side-by-side much like they had in the beginning, only this time Jak readily pulled Daxter close, that fall of golden red hair coming to rest naturally on his shoulder as sleep claimed another body.

The fingers that treaded through the sunset coloured strands were quite normal, though they showed the same care their edged counterparts had.  Daxter made a soft noise of contentment that brought a smile much softer than the normal reckless grin those lips usually wore.  The fangs were still ready to be bared, the horns and claws and the endless black power he possessed always ready to be unleashed in the defense of what was his, but it was all content to stay drifting in the background, passive and pliant under the gently radiant glow of light the suffused all things now.  He was still held together, all the important pieces at least, by that voice that had never truly left him.  And now there was a body attached to that voice, and a heart, and a light that loved him as no other could and that he desperately loved back. 

Braced and encircled by that, Jak couldn’t find it in him to care about anything else.

***

_I’ll protect you—this is war_   
_We don’t have time to choose a way_   
_To show you how our love is different_   
_I’ll defend you to the end._   
_Prepare for the final attack_   
_There’s no end to this battle yet_   
_Love is war_   
_Until this song reaches you._

_~Ai wa Sensou (KAITO Ver.) – Vocaloid~_

\-------------------------------------------------------------

To be concluded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, folks, the title chapter and inspiration for the whole escapade. I wish I could find the original creator, but considering how many times this song has been resourced... I don't have the time to crawl that far into Nico Nico. The Nodoame cover is my favorite version and really, the whole song is relevant, but the ending part is still my favorite. If you haven't listened to anything else I've had up, go listen to this one. I'm serious. Go.


	11. Land of a Thousand Words

The first thing Daxter was aware of upon waking was that he was alone in bed.  Whatever panic that thought might have sparked was soothed away long before it could start.  A wave of contentment rolled over him like the softest of caresses, warm and nearly phantom, very real despite its seemingly ephemeral nature.  It seeped into all the doubtful places, solidifying into a relaxed calm.  All was well in the outside world.  There was nothing to be concerned about at the moment.  His anxiety relented, leaving him in an odd half-space between sleep and consciousness.  He rolled over and buried his face into the pillow, not quite willing to give up these last few moments of carefree quiet.

If someone had told him that at the end of all the insanity that he’d be sleeping in the structure that had come to symbolize everything wrong with the world, he would have laughed himself sick and then probably slit the poor fool’s throat because they had obviously lost touch with reality.  Yet there he was, laying on one of the softest beds he’d ever known with clean sheets and warm blankets, lounging around just because he could.  And this wasn’t even one of the “nice” rooms.  In fact, they’d been living at the Palace for almost six months now, ever since the last of the heavy fighting had ended. 

It wasn’t where they’d wanted to end up at the end of everything.  But with the Rift Gate still in pieces spread between the city and the rapidly crumbling Nest, going back to their time and place was something of a pipedream—vainly hoped for, yet acknowledged as highly unlikely to happen.  At first, they’d thought to make the newly christened Naughty Ottsel their home away from home.  There was enough of a useable kitchen in the back and one of the store rooms had been converted just fine into a bedroom.  That plan had fallen by the wayside because of Widgit, who had to stay in the Palace for reasons that still made little sense to Daxter. 

They had quietly decided to keep the kid with them, regardless of what they had to do in order to accomplish that.  To that point, they had even made inroads towards becoming legal guardians for the boy, though Precursors help the soul who tried to step between Jak and his younger self, fancy paperwork or not.  Big Jak stayed with Little Jak.  End of story.  After more than a few arguments, it had been agreed that the fewer people who knew about Widgit’s (still undetermined) royal status, the better the reconstruction efforts would go.  Fewer still were privy to the fact the shy, abnormally quiet child in their midst was the starting point for the misanthropic eco channeler that had helped save the city.  Jak insisted it was for better, considering how many ugly smears were still abounding about the “eco-freak,” but it made Daxter wonder how many people it would scare off, knowing those fangs and claws were protecting direct blood.  Hell, they might have already been granted that stupid document of adoption.

It was all democratic now, though.  Due process through a group of peers.  It was utter bullshit as far as he was concerned.  Now there was just that many more idiots to go through to get something done.  And while some credit had to be given to Ashelin for refusing to take the dictator route, one had to wonder about the sense of becoming a Governess instead.  As such, she was the party viewed as responsible for everything that happened, but the real power was in the “Council.”  More specifically, the seven lords who sat on the highest level of the Council, each from one of the aristocratic houses still left in the city.  It made sense that since it was their power and influence currently keeping the city standing that they would have some say in what happened.  But they were also the same morons who’d help put the Baron in power in the first place, so Daxter didn’t trust a single one of them further than he could throw a yakow.  Especially that creep, Veger…  Holy damn that man pissed him off, and not just for the way he scorned Jak or looked at Widgit.

So they lived in the Palace, down in the corridor reserved for the people who kept the massive structure running behind the scenes, because that’s what it took to stay near their unofficial charge.  It wasn’t as bad as some would think—several of the people who had been hired for domestic services had families of their own, so there were children Widgit could interact with and other people he could turn to for help when the Demolition Duo was sent back out for whatever.  And, heavens’ forbid, those people actually seemed to like having the two of them around, at ease with a street rat and a science experiment living amongst them.  Even Widgit’s crocadog liked them, so that was saying something.

Which was good, because he and Jak were gone more often than not nowadays.  Despite Kor’s death, Metalheads were still everywhere.  Scattered, not as well organized, and mostly fractured back down to the level of semi-intelligent animals, but still there with enough cohesion to be a constant pain in the ass.  On top of that were the weird rumors about activity out at the destroyed Weapon’s Factory.  They had talked to Torn about the robotic things they’d encountered there and the Freedom Guard leader had shown them plans that had been in the works to swell the depleted Krimzon Guard ranks.  Everything to create the death bots should have gone up with Krew’s piercer bomb, however.

Should and was didn’t seem to be keeping great company these days.

But for once, they weren’t out and about, continuing to save a city that barely tolerated them.  Today, they had a little bit of down time to remember the worst was already over and that there was more to life than do or die.  They could afford to take a few moments to simply breathe.  It was with this firmly in mind that Daxter finally roused himself.  He rolled back over, eyes casting about to locate his wayward partner.  Unsurprisingly, Jak was standing in front of the large, floor to ceiling windows, taking in the morning sunshine.  The fact that he was completely undressed gave Daxter something to take in as well.

After openly staring for a while, he slipped from the bed, padding silently over to where Jak was still contemplating the sun.  He snuggled up against the other’s warm back, arms circling around the waist as he leaned his head into a broad shoulder.  A subtle shift in weight had the blond gently leaning back into him as equally warm hands slid along his arms, holding the embrace where it was.  A slight tip of the head left them resting equally against each other.  The earlier contentment once more washed over their eco bond, blanketing any lingering worry and dulling the still instinctive need to be constantly wary.  Daxter sighed, letting all his thoughts be gently pushed aside for the time being.  If Jak could let it go, then he could let it go, too.

How long they stood there was anyone’s guess.  With nowhere to go and nothing to do once they got there, it didn’t matter.  Nothing mattered more than the light and warmth wrapped around them at that particular moment, leaving the world and all its problems thankfully still and silent.  Jak moved first, turning in the circle of Daxter’s arms without fully breaking the embrace.  He smiled in that soft, almost shy manner reminiscent of Sandover, which automatically had the redhead grinning back.  One of them leaned forward.  The other met them halfway.  Their mouths connected gently, still curved with their smiles and affection.  Jak’s hands slid into red hair as Daxter’s started running across a solid back.  From there, it didn’t take much for the easy giving of affection to turn into something more.

It started with a shy tongue being greeted and welcomed in.  The press of their lips became firmer as hands started clenching.  It was impossible to not feel how Jak’s body was reacting, which in turn aroused something in Daxter’s.  He practically melted when big hands started kneading down his spine, his own coming up to tangle in long blond hair and keep their mouths together.  There was a rumble of approval right before Jak picked him up.  No second thought was given to wrapping his legs around Jak’s waist in return.  Daxter was much too interested in the tongue he was fighting against to think about anything else.

He whined when their kiss broke even as his lungs made a desperate pull for oxygen.  Hot breath and wet lips roamed over his throat, almost enough to distract him from the fact he was being carefully laid out on the bed.  And then there was only Jak again, his mouth teasing the spot on his neck that made everything go limp and tingly, his hands stroking and kneading, his want and pleasure and desire to do everything and more constantly pouring through the eco connection until Daxter felt like he could drown in the sensations.  Since there was absolutely no drive to save himself, he pretty much did, choking on little cries and whimpers as Jak licked, kissed, and touched everything with such heartbreaking care.

It didn’t have to be that way.  They’d had their fair share of desperate sex, where there had only been minutes to do something and the need for a physical connection was overwhelming.  Rough, hard and now meant bruises and scratches in uncomfortable places, but Daxter could take it, still ask for more.  He didn’t need to be treated like glass.  That Jak would take the time and effort to be that soft and gentle anyway was so arousing that he almost came when a hand finally found his erection.

“Jak…”  It didn’t feel right, just receiving all of the attention.  There had to be something he could in return other than lay there like a lump on a log.

“Let me do this.”  Teeth grazed over his throat again, down his sternum as the hand wrapped around him began slowly stroking.  “Let me make you feel good.”

He wasn’t very good at being passive, but Daxter fisted the sheets anyway, letting Jak do as he wanted.  It was still the gentlest application of lips and teeth, a soft teasing of blond hair sliding across hypersensitive skin, but there was a definite purpose to the path Jak chose to travel.  It was almost too much to lay there and take even without that ever-present stimulation to his cock.  He was breathless, panting hard by the time that painfully light adoration reached his stomach.  He was nearly ready to cry in frustration when a tongue found overheated skin, the deliberate lick along the underside of his erection as much a relief as it was a torment.

Oral sex had been another one of those miraculous leaps Jak had made.  A spontaneous decision during one late night shower, it had seemed wrong then, too, to watch his friend go down on him even if it was incredibly hot.  More than anything, it proved Jak was confident enough to take a lead, a concept that had only been flirted with up to that point.  Sure, the advances had been getting bolder all the time.  He’d come a long away from fumbling shy teenager to where he was now.  But that blind jump forward also marked a turning point in their physical relationship.  Daxter no longer found himself pushing.  Rather, he was the one being pushed, or pulled depending on how the situation turned out.  Having already spent so much time essentially being the one in charge, it was sometimes a hard adjustment to take.

The feeling of a slick finger starting to penetrate was like the flipping of a switch.  The last of his contention disappeared, leaving him open and pliant to whatever Jak wanted.  To be honest, it scared him a little that that switch existed at all, never mind the ease with which the blond could use it to shut him down.  Before, he’d passed it off as a trick of his mind.  He had, after all, sworn to himself to do and be whatever Jak needed him to do and/or be.  It seemed the least that could be offered after abandoning his friend for two years.  Now, he wasn’t so sure it was just conviction that lead him to caving to whatever was desired.

Or maybe he was just thinking about it too much.  He whined through his gritted teeth as another finger joined the stretching of the first.  He did honestly like being touched like this even if the thought of actually taking something back there was sometimes daunting.  He also knew that at some point, the power struggle between them would even out again.  Just as it had taken time for Jak to learn that not all touch would end in pain, he would eventually learn that it was okay to be that kind of vulnerable in the presence of someone trusted.  Until then, it was up to Daxter to be patient.  That critical first step that proved everything was all right was his to make.  So he relaxed and tried to remember to breathe as a third finger was added.

It was a bit of a shock when the mouth around him pulled abruptly away.  The fingers in him withdrew next.  The sudden ache both actions caused was somewhat subdued as Jak settled heavily against him, drawing him into another hard kiss.  It broke far too soon, though there wasn’t a chance to voice any displeasure.

“I want you to ride me,” was growled softly into his ear.

Daxter shuddered a bit, as much for the teeth that tugged at his earlobe as for the request itself, moaning into the mouth once more attached to his own as their positions switched.  It wasn’t often that Jak had the courage to press his back against anything he wasn’t using for cover.  Even this far removed from the source of that paranoia by time and circumstance, the scars caused by torture showed through.  Laying on his back was a sign of ultimate trust.  Asking for it, being able to purposefully put himself into a position like that, was something Daxter had always hoped his friend would be able to do even as it became one more thing he accepted would probably never happen.

So he remained purposefully pliant as those large, warm hands skimmed across his back, enjoying their soft, yet hungry kiss.  Almost unconsciously, he began shifting against the solid form beneath his.  It started as simple flexing in his spine, trying to draw out the contact along of the palms pressed to his skin.  Soon, his hips started to rock as well while their tongues repeated the same dance.  Before too long, Jak’s hands latched on to his hipbones, guiding at first, then starting to force the movement, a variety of sounds smothered by their lip lock.

“Dax.”  It was impossible to tell if the blond had actually said his name out loud or if the words came through action.  As reluctant as he was to end their kiss, Daxter pulled back, shifting so that he could sit up properly.  Dark blue eyes watched him as carefully as he watched them.  Nails lightly scratched over his thighs in a repetitive, possessive gesture.  He reached through their bond to verify Jak was as calm as he appeared to be, then reached back with his own hand to take hold of his lover’s hard length.  A groan of relief met the first idle stroke while a second made those intent eyes roll back.  A third had Jak lifting his hips in a not so silent request.  Daxter grinned a bit evilly in response, but didn’t tease any further.  He found the position he wanted and waited for the other to look at him again before slowly easing back.

The stretch made him gasp.  The odd feeling of pressure made him groan. His body gave easily to the intrusion, offering only a slight resistance to the initial breech.  Jak hissed softly in response, grip tightening on milky thighs until the last inch was taken, leaving them connected in every way possible.  Daxter settled, trying to regain his breath while Jak once more took to petting the skin under his hands.  In turn, the redhead let his hands slide across his partner’s stomach and chest until need forced him to do more than endure the slowly building pleasure.

Their focus caught again even though their eyes had yet to look somewhere else as Daxter began to move experimentally.  A few cautious rocks and then again more confidently, he began to ride against the hot length inside him.  Slow.  Deliberate.  A roll of the hips up and a smooth slide down that only made the want for more sharper.  His legs slipped open wider.  Jak caught the hands braced against his chest, linking their fingers together and helping provide support.  Securely grounded, Daxter began rising up onto his knees, drawing out the action despite the desire for even more.

He cried out when Jak started thrusting up, taking the timing from Daxter’s own motions.  The tension in his lower belly was almost unbearable.  Even the smallest thing seemed to tighten it further without any promise of relief.  And for as much as he wanted that relief, there was still a part of him that didn’t want it to end yet and fought to keep going just as they were.  Yet they continued to move against each other with increasing urgency without actively trying to.  Jak’s heavy breaths picked up a distinct growl while Daxter’s became edged with a needy whine.  He didn’t know how much more he could take without simply crumbling to pieces, but it felt so good…

The end came swiftly.  Jak untangled their fingers, freeing his hands to grip the redhead’s hips once more and force their movement faster.  All that tension turned hot before abruptly melting.  The first shiver of orgasm turned into a breath-stealing landslide of pleasure as Jak continued to move, each thrust drawing out another rush of liquidized desire.  It was just on the edge of too much when Jak snarled though his own completion, holding them together with bruising force.  Daxter gasped, as much for the need of air as for the throb against his spine, the result of Jak’s release inside him.

For a while, they went back to simply existing together.  Ignoring the mess created by their actions, Daxter laid back down on top of Jak, who obligingly started to massage the abused muscles of his lower back while sneaking small kisses.  The most energy the redhead could summon had him nuzzling absently at the skin pressed against his cheek.  Had he still been an ottsel, he might have been purring.  He hummed in contentment instead, knowing Jak was feeling that gentle rumbling anyway just as he felt it from the darker side of the blond.

Eventually, the nagging voice of reason came back around, harping about how they couldn’t spend all day in bed even if there was nothing else for them to officially be doing.  To Daxter, it sounded annoying like Samos, which only made him want to ignore it more, but he couldn’t ignore the enticement of a hot shower.  He groaned and wobbled unsteadily on his knees, using that as a great excuse to constantly bump into Jak, who bumped right back.  They were practically shoving each other by the time they reached the shower.  The limited space curtailed some of their horseplay, but not all of it.  Amid much splashing and accidental groping, they got cleaned up and were halfway decent by the time the unexpected knock came to their door.

They both instantly straightened up.  Daxter reached for his knife while Jak started pulling at eco, their attention now focused on the possible threat.  There was a second set of knocks, this time in a specific pattern that had them relaxing again.  At least enough that Daxter could put aside his weapon and go to the door, opening it carefully to keep himself out of the way in case Jak needed to strike.

Standing a respectable distance away, obviously aware of the need for caution, was a young girl, probably about half their age, smiling apologetically as she tried to keep an even younger child from just running in.  The last of the tension evaporated as he returned the smile.  “S’okay, Maghra.  We’re good.”

As soon as her grip released, Widgit was running.  Daxter caught the bounding leap aimed at him easily, swinging the boy up into an equally enthusiastic hug.  “Sorry,” Maghra said shyly.  “He was just so bound and determined to see you this morning.”

“I know how that one goes,” he replied, grinning at Jak.  “Get’s somethin’ inta his head an’ can’t ever let it go again.”  Jak steadfastly ignored him as he accepted the next flying Widgit hug.  “How bad did we miss breakfast?”

“Mom may have saved something for you, but you’ll have to barter for coffee.”

Maghra’s mother was also the head cook in the kitchens and she always had food set aside for them, regardless of the time of day.  And a mug of that amazingly smooth, rich, dark drink laced with a cream alcohol that woman called coffee was well worth the hour of labour they would provide to get it.  The question and answer were just a flirtatious habit now.  Considering the kind of nerves that came with their job description and background, the ritualized joke was a solid comfort.

There would probably never again be a point in time where they didn’t tense when someone came tapping at their door.  Precursors knew some days it was easier to put a weapon down than others.  Too many nights spent in paranoid insomnia and too many days struggling for a fleeting cause stood between them and that level of comfort.  Even with the balance somewhat restored in Jak and the growing number of days lost to routine rather than drama, it was startlingly easy to slip back into that vigilant aggressiveness.  That reaction wasn’t winning any friends among those who wanted to pretend the war never happened.  But people like Maghra and her mother were proving that not everyone had their heads shoved into a hole, that all the sacrifices and resulting issues had actually been worth something.

It had always been worth it, Daxter amended to himself as he watched Widgit wildly pantomime out something to Jak, who took it in with all due seriousness.  To be the one standing there in the mid-morning sun with the two people he loved more than anything made every hour spent clawing his way through the slums not necessarily validated, but definitely somewhat easier to bear.  Theirs wasn’t ideal, or great, or even all that fair as far as happy endings were supposed to go.  Only a slightly happier one than there might have been. There were a lot of people in Haven who’d never have this kind of closure, or even something close to it.  But the here and now was theirs and that was the most, and only, important part.

Jak noticed the attention and gave him a slightly questioning look, but said nothing when Daxter shook his head.  Widgit was on the move again once his feet hit the floor, tugging them both in the direction of the kitchens and the true beginning of their day.  They followed in good humor, hands brushing together as they walked down the hall until Jak took the initiative and actually twined their fingers together again.

The easy grip tightened briefly.  _I love you._

Daxter grinned back.  _I know._

***

_This is the land of a thousand words_   
_But it seems so few are worth the breath to say_   
_Except I'll be looking after my own world_   
_And you just keep on saving the day_   
_I'll try to stay but it's in vain when you're far_   
_I'm on the run to wherever you are._

_~Land of a Thousand Words – Scissor Sisters~_

\-------------------------------------------------------------

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, who has stopped by to read, and especially those of you who have taken the time to review. It really means a lot to me to hear from people. As a token of my appreciation, there will be an extra chapter of fluff added on shortly. It's not technically part of the original storyline, but takes part in the same continuum and was an excuse to do something cute just to prove to myself (and a few other people) I could. 
> 
> Slight bit of trivia for anyone who cares: This story has been typed into a single word document. At the end of everything, that document is 77 pages long, with a total word count of 57,057. And for as much as I like symmetry, that was completely unintentional.


	12. Extra!!  One Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece is pure fluff and could have happened at any point after the last chapter, but before the start of the third game. Enjoy!

Evil Widgit peered down the hallway, trying to make a decision—did he stay, or did he go? 

He wasn’t supposed to go wandering alone in the Palace.  Not that he _wanted_ to go wandering about or anything.  Bad things had happened here.  Things he only half remembered, that gave him nightmares.  So he really didn’t mind having to hold someone’s hand while walking through all the humongous, never-ending hallways.  Especially if that someone was Jak or Daxter, because he liked them best of all.

He giggled as a wet nose snuffled in his ear.  Tiny blue eyes glared with indignation when he looked at the small ottsel draped over his shoulder.  Jak and Daxter were the best of all the adults, Widgit amended.  There was a pleased trill and a head rubbing against his cheek, earning another giggle.  Kian (so named by the guy wore part of a tree on his head) was his special secret friend, someone he could play with and talk to and hold and who would never leave him alone ever again, even during the scary stuff…like big, deserted corridors the early morning light was just starting to brighten.  And it was very early.  Earlier than he ever seemed to manage alone, where the only people up were the nice lady who cooked in the kitchen and the big men who were supposed to protect everyone.  The smart thing to do would be to turn around and go back to bed, curl up with Howl (his crocadog) and Kian and stay safe within the confines of his warm blankets until it was time for breakfast. 

Except…Jak and Daxter had come back last night.  After a very long week, they had come back from whatever important thing they’d gone off to do.  Just as they had promised, they had come to see him as soon as they had returned.  But it had been so late at the time that all there had been was a sleepy round of hugs.  He’d missed them so much and he wanted to see them again, more than he’d wanted almost anything else.  Just a peek, to make sure he hadn’t dreamed the hugs like he dreamed about so many other things.  Their room was only two doors down from his; that wasn’t far.  And he wasn’t alone—Howl and Kian were there to make sure nothing bad happened.  He could do this!

A whine broke his nerve.  He looked back to see Howl gently tugging at the end of his nightshirt and scowled.  He liked this shirt!  True, it was so much bigger than he was that he practically swam in the excess material, but Jak had given it to him.  Jak had _smiled_ and _laughed_ when it had pooled around him, which was something the blond hero rarely did _ever_ , despite Daxter’s tales to the contrary.  That made the faded blue shirt, rolled and stitched up so it fit some better, special.  He needed to keep it nice.

Howl whined again, looking forlorn as the material slipped unharmed from sharp teeth.  The pup looked back to the bed, then back at him, tail wagging slightly.  The intent was clear, _come back to bed._   Widgit shook his head.  Howl growled softly, ending with a light huff when Widgit reached out to pet him.  The pout was obvious, but the crocadog dutifully pressed against his leg, peering out into the hallway with ears perked.

Despite having both Howl and Kian at his side, he couldn’t quite muster the nerve to step out of the doorway.  As badly as he wanted to see his other two friends, they had also been the ones to tell him not to wander about.  Except he wasn’t wandering, he reminded himself; he was just walking down two doors.  He wasn’t alone, so that wasn’t a problem either.  And he just wanted to see, to make sure they were okay.  But they’d be so mad when they found him outside the room.  He didn’t want to make them mad.  He wanted to see them so badly, though…

With a squeak, Kian slipped from his shoulder, sliding down his front in a mostly controlled manner.  The ottsel still ended up in a small pile on the floor when it tried to jump and only two paws received the message to let go.  Before Widgit could reach for him, Kian had righted himself and scurried down the hall.  He stopped in front of the appropriate door, sat up on his haunches and chirped expectantly.  It was a really loud sound in the otherwise empty space.  Widgit tried to shush him, but Kian simply stared back, one soft orange ear twitching.  He made a “come here” gesture.  The response was a slow blink and a sharp shake of the head, though that may have been a quiet sneeze on the ottsel’s part.  A stamped foot and a demand were met with another defiant chirp.

Oh holy—  He broke the thought off there; he wasn’t supposed to swear.  Daxter had been very specific about how old he had to be and the circumstances he had to be in to swear, and this wasn’t it.  Widgit glared at his friend.  Kian yawned and idly scratched under his chin.  It was obvious now that he had every intention of just sitting there.  If Widgit wanted the ottsel kit back, he’d have to go down and get him.  There was half a thought to just leaving the little furry deserter to whatever fate awaited him when he remembered the other thing Daxter had told him:  _Rule One—you take care of your own_.  And if Kian wasn’t his own, then he didn’t know what that meant.  Actually, he really wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but he assumed it was related to the way the redhead was always with Jak and vice versa, since that was when the phrase was brought up most.

There was a moment’s hesitation as he glanced around nervously before bolting down the hallway.  He was in such a rush he almost toppled right over the orange fluff, who squeaked when Howl did run into him.  Widgit hushed them both before they could start snarling at each other.  There was an anxious moment as he waited for the horrible something that always happened when he disobeyed…but the silence remained unbroken.  He blinked and peered around.  Still nothing.  No angry voices.  No pounding feet.  No being pushed this way and that.  Everything was as still and quiet as it had been when he’d first gotten the gumption to open the door and look out.

With a smug air, Kian climbed back up to his preferred spot, draped over Widgit’s left shoulder, back paws braced against a hip because there wasn’t enough room to cling comfortably to the shoulder alone.  (Sometimes, he’d perch like that on Jak’s shoulder if the larger man was just sitting around, but he almost always tumbled off once Jak began to move.  Daxter would snicker when that happened even as he saved the baby ottsel from colliding nose first with the floor.)  Widgit let him have the moment of glory; it had gotten them out of the doorway and over to where they needed to be.  He was almost to his goal.  Now it was just him versus the door.

Experience told him the handle would be just out of reach.  He’d only gotten his bedroom door open by pushing a chair over to it.  He couldn’t drag a chair this far, however, not to mention it would be a complete giveaway to his disobedience.  Maybe…if he stretched up on his tippy-toes, just maybe he could…  Nope.  His fingers didn’t even come close to brushing the handle and he almost ended up on his backside for the effort.  He stared at the obstacle, trying not to feel disappointed.  In all his worry and want, he’d totally forgotten about the most crucial portion—gaining entry.  Most of the doors were automated, depending upon sensors or timers to open and close.  All the doors on this side of the Palace, however, relied on a different mechanism and physical force.  He remembered the argument that had occurred when everyone was picking rooms.  The guy with all the marks on his face, the one who wasn’t The Scary One but was still pretty scary anyway, had wanted everyone to stay elsewhere.  Jak and Daxter had both said things he wasn’t allowed to repeat ever against the idea.  In the end, they had agreed to disagree, whatever that meant, and the two heroes had staked out this room as theirs.  It had made him all warm and fuzzy inside when he was allowed to room close to them.

So close, yet so very far.  Widgit screwed up his face and his courage.  He’d already come this far—he couldn’t just give up now!  He reached up, wobbling unsteadily as high up on his toes as he could manage.  Howl gruffed and braced against his legs from behind, pressing and holding him up higher than he could manage alone.  He stretched his hand out, still falling that little bit shy of actually touching.  Kian then wound up his arm.  Widgit twisted his hand so that he could hang onto the ottsel as it tried to leverage the handle down.  For a few precarious moments, it didn’t seem like it was going to work.  His legs and arm started to ache as he tried to stretch out even further.  Just a little more.  Just a little more and…

…the latch clicked.  The door swung open, causing the three of them to tumble in with a sharp yelp.

Two more thumps followed in the wake of his ungraceful entrance.  He froze on instinct alone when the next sounds were the powering up of a gun and the scrapping of something metallic.  There was a beat or two of silence, then an explosive curse the likes of which he hadn’t heard in a while.

“Fuckin’ sonuva— _Widgit?!_   What the hell!!”

Widgit tried to shrink into the floor as he stared up into two very angry yet also relieved faces.  Jak was standing on the bed, a gun in one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other.  Daxter was crouched down on the floor with his knife drawn, still swearing under his breath as a hand raked through his hair.  They both looked even more tired than they had the night before, hair mussed, ears flagging, and still half dressed.  Daxter still had his pants on, but nothing else.  Jak was down to a thin undershirt and his shorts.  Their bed was in complete disarray with pillows and blankets thrown everywhere.

He bit the inside of his lip, struggling not to cry.  They had every right to be angry, he reminded himself, to be disappointed.  He’d willfully gone against what they’d told him and then awoken them with all his noise when they obviously needed peace and quiet.  He should have stayed in bed, stayed where he’d been told to stay instead of getting worried and trying to find his own way.  He wouldn’t have made them angry.  He wouldn’t have gotten lost.  He wouldn’t have been separated from his father if he’d just stayed put…

“Hey, now.”  Daxter’s voice had softened, which somehow only made it harder not to cry.  Kian made a concerned noise when the tears started slipping down his cheeks and Howl whined, nuzzling against his side.  He didn’t resist when cool hands pulled him into a warm body, stroking his head and back.  “S’okay, little guy.  I promise.  Ya just startled us, is all.”

It was more than that, but he couldn’t say the words.  Even though he knew they would listen to him, that they would protect and care and be there if he broke his silence and told them his secrets, the words never came.  All he could do was stand there and cry, hoping his apology would be accepted even though it couldn’t be heard.

“…Did we really scare him that bad?”

“Naw, this is somethin’ else.  Pretty sure, at least.”

A heavier hand came to rest of his head.  “It’s okay, kid.”  Jak’s voice was soft and warm, soothing even though it was rougher than normal.  “We know you didn’t mean it.  That you’re sorry.  No one’s angry with you.  I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but it’s going to be okay.”

“Yeah,” Daxter chimed in.  “Everythin’ always turns out all right in the end.  It just ain’t the end yet.”

Widgit wasn’t too sure about all that, but at the moment, he didn’t care.  He clung to the body in front of him and cried.  Daxter curled around him, making soothing sounds similar to what Kian was making.  Maybe it was because all the other times he’d cried, he’d been alone and this time, he wasn’t.  Maybe it was because after a few minutes, Daxter blew a raspberry on his cheek while lightly tickling his sides, causing him to hiccup and giggle.  Maybe it was the way both Jak and Daxter looked at him with the same care and affection as they did each other when he shyly lifted damp eyes.  Whatever it was, the tears dried up faster than any of the other times he’d tried not to cry.

The warmth that replace the ache diffused some when Jak yawned, which prompted Daxter to yawn as well.  Before he could offer up another apology, the redhead had gathered him up and was standing.  “It’s too freakin’ early in the mornin’ fer this.  You up for a few more hours of shut eye?”

He nodded meekly, fully expecting to be set down and lead back to his own room.  Instead, he was taken back to the bed the two heroes had been sharing.  Jak closed the bedroom door while Daxter reordered the bedding. flopping down dramatically.  He rolled to find a comfortable position, then held his arms open.  Widgit wasted no time curling up against him, pleased beyond words that he was allowed to stay.  Jak picked up a snuffling Howl, placing the crocadog pup at the foot of the bed before crawling in on the other side.  There was a little bit of shuffling around to get everyone situated comfortably, but they soon settled.  Widgit remained tucked tightly between Jak and Daxter, both of whom had an arm wrapped him and each other.  With little room to be had, Howl had curled up behind Jak’s legs while Kian staked out a piece of pillow above Daxter’s head. 

His two exhausted friends fell back asleep almost immediately.  Curled up between them, Widgit had never felt safer.  He could barely remember a time when he felt so secure, always being shuffled off one way or another with people he rarely knew.  This was the place he never wanted to leave, the place he wanted to stay forever, the only place he’d found that neither scared nor worried him while he was there.  Cocooned in so much warmth and safety, Widgit made his decision.  No matter what, he’d find a way to tell them.  He’d tell them everything and anything they wanted to know, but most importantly, his name.

Because hearing them say his name was the only way to make this a better morning.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Additional Disclaimer: The lyrics used within are part of the fair use clause of copyright law and remain the property of the individual artists and recording companies to which they belong. Any misconstruing/mistyping of the lyrics is strictly the fault of the author. All lyrics are used here only for setting ambiance.
> 
> Want more writing/music/bad fangirl antics? I've got a semi-NSFW [tumblr](http://grimreaperchibi.tumblr.com) where all the weirdness gets dumped.


End file.
